


What Is And What Should Never Be

by Blue M Hart (ThePreciousHeart)



Category: Wayne's World (1992)
Genre: 1980s, 80's Music, Backstory, Brotherly Bonding, Friendship, Friendship Troubles, Gen, Heavy Metal, High School, Hockey, Illinois, Jealousy, Musicians, Neurodiversity, Origin Story, Pre-Canon, Scary Movies, Sleepovers, Small Towns, Social Anxiety, TV watching, Talent Shows, Teen Crush, Thanksgiving, author projection, band practice, i wrote this in 2 weeks rip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/Blue%20M%20Hart
Summary: Two students at Aurora High are trying to find their individual place in the world. Wayne Campbell is all ambition and no application, while Garth Algar is all application and no ambition. The two come to realize that the whole is greater than the sum of their parts as they navigate scary movies, creative differences, intense crushes, and friendship struggles.
Relationships: Garth Algar & Wayne Campbell
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I pieced together the canon for the story from both Wayne's World films and every available sketch online featuring Wayne Campbell, including a few "Wayne's Power Minute" sketches from the program It's Only Rock and Roll which preceded the SNL sketches. However, a couple still eluded me so I hope nothing in this story contradicts canon too much. Also, I am no expert on the 80's and am especially far removed from the heavy metal counterculture of which Wayne and Garth are both a part, so please excuse any inaccuracies. Finally, I tried to structure this like a typical teen movie, so any cliches or cheesiness is intentional.
> 
> Title comes from the Led Zeppelin song.
> 
> All right, party on!

_Hold my breath as I wish for death._ James Hetfield’s rough voice echoed through Garth Algar’s ears, curving down his spine and settling into his bones. _Oh please God, help me._

Well, okay, the song wasn’t _really_ playing, and the only voice Garth could actually hear was that of his classmate Sue droning monotonously from the textbook in front of her. She was halfway through some speech from _Antigone,_ the play they were reading- or, well, _meant_ to be reading. Garth had his textbook open, too, but Mr. Atlee hadn’t asked him to play a part. At first the prospect had been dizzyingly joyous. No more stumbling through awkward pronunciations while the entire class stared at him with their cold, dead-fish eyes. But as the reading wore on and his classmates’ voices slowly blended into one, Garth found his attention wandering, and the song that he’d been listening to on the way to school that morning crept back into his head.

_Darkness imprisoning me! All that I see. Absolute horror! I cannot live, I cannot die, trapped in myself… body a holding cell…_

_Ugh._ Garth tried to replace the words in his head with the words on the page, but his vision blurred and images from Metallica’s latest video filled his mind’s eye. It wasn’t _fair_ that English, easily school’s most heinous subject, was his last class of the day. By that point, no one wanted to be in a classroom anymore, especially not Garth. Let alone be forced to listen to the class read out loud, because how did that help anyone learn, anyway? It was hard enough trying to get through Greek tragedies on his own time without becoming distracted by the way his classmates enunciated certain words, or the varying pitches of their voices, or…

“Stop it!” The two words, hissed at Garth, jolted him from his music-induced stupor. He blinked surprised eyes at Alison, who had turned around in her seat, her plum-colored lips drawn up in a scowl. Before he could register what it was she wanted him to stop doing, she had spun around again, tossing her permed curls in her wake. Neither Sue nor Mr. Atlee seemed to have noticed.

“Wh—” Garth started to whisper, before it hit him that there was a pen in his hand. He must have been so focused on the imagined tune that he’d started clicking it in rhythm. This wasn’t the first time Alison had gotten on him about that. No matter what Garth did, it seemed he was somehow making enough noise to disrupt her. Sighing quietly, Garth pulled his pencil case out of his backpack to replace the offending article. Without the pen, he felt restless, his hands empty and useless. They needed something to do.

Sneaking a glance into his backpack, Garth soon discovered the perfect item for his distraction. It was right there, nestled between his color-coded notebooks and his wadded-up gym uniform– his Walkman. The thought of loading up his Metallica cassette, popping on his headphones, and pressing play was overwhelming. But Garth knew he wouldn’t do it, not in a million years, because as hopeless as his performance in this class was, he didn’t want to intentionally sabotage his so-called “learning experience.” The most he could do was find a non-disruptive way to fidget with it, maybe by tying knots in the headphones, or– or _taking out the batteries._

The sudden burst of inspiration warred with a whiplash of fear. If Mr. Atlee caught Garth with his Walkman, he’d certainly face uncertain doom. But it wasn’t like he’d be listening to anything, he just wanted to hold it… Ever so slowly, Garth’s hand inched towards his open backpack, while his eyes remained glued to the front of the class. Surely Mr. Atlee couldn’t see him, anyway, since Garth was seated in the second-to-last row… and if Garth got a chance to explain it, he might understand… His body seized as his fingers wrapped around the Walkman. _Yes!_ All he had to do now was haul it out, slow and steady, and hide it under his desk. Then he’d have to find a way to pry the back open, and _then_ —

All hopes of getting away scot-free vanished as Garth fumbled the haul, his fingers tripping over themselves. The Walkman tumbled out of his sweat-slick grasp and clattered to the floor, into the row on Garth’s right.

Several heads turned toward the sound, trapping Garth with a mutual scrutinizing stare. To his utter horror, Mr. Atlee rose from his desk, frowning as he surveyed the disrupted classroom. “What was that?” None of his students breathed a word. Garth didn’t breathe at all. He watched the scene play out as if in slow motion, of Mr. Atlee’s gaze zeroing in on the fallen Walkman, of him stalking down the row and bending over to pick it up.

“Whose is this?” Mr. Atlee’s eyes landed on Garth, all cold and blue and steely. Garth opened his mouth halfway, but words failed him. Everyone was _staring_ at him. He’d made the teacher mad and now he was going to get into trouble and everyone would talk about that loser who’d tried to sneak his music into class and got busted for it…

Then a voice spoke up– a voice from the heavens. “That would be mine, Mr. Atlee.”

Each head that had turned Garth’s way now turned toward the source of the voice. Garth’s head turned too, although not very far since the guy who’d spoken was sitting right next to him. He was one of the few students in Mr. Atlee’s class whose name still eluded Garth. Until now, his most defining characteristics had been the black baseball cap he stubbornly persisted in wearing, even though it was against school dress code, and his habit of turning his textbook into a pillow and his desk into a bed. Now he met Mr. Atlee’s gaze without a trace of fear. In fact, he almost looked _eager_ for a confrontation. But not in the mean way that a bully would, Garth decided. No, he looked prepared for conflict simply because he knew he could handle it.

“I see,” Mr. Atlee drawled. He held the Walkman aloft. “And what were you doing with it in the middle of my class?”

“Uh… what do you think I was doing with it?” It looked like Garth’s savior was trying to hide a smile. “What do you normally do with a Walkman?”

Mr. Atlee’s eyes trailed distastefully from the Walkman to the attached headphones. His forehead creased. “All right, Campbell. See me after class.” With that, he turned around and headed back to his desk, oblivious to Garth choking on air behind him.

“Now…” In one deft movement, Mr. Atlee slid his desk drawer open and deposited the Walkman inside. The clattering sound as he pushed the drawer shut rattled through Garth’s head. “Where were we? Sue?”

Only when the rustle of textbook pages filled the air did Garth realize his heart had stopped pounding. He slumped over his desk, breathing a long sigh of relief. All right, so Mr. Atlee had locked up his Walkman, which wasn’t exactly a perfect outcome– but he couldn’t focus on that now. Rather, his interest lay with the complete stranger who had stuck his neck out for him, for no reason at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, Garth snuck a glance at the guy. He thought he might get away with subtly observing him, but the guy glanced back immediately. Garth started, but the guy didn’t seem too offended. He shrugged, a purposeful gesture meant only for Garth’s eyes, before burying himself in the textbook before him.

Beneath Garth’s total bafflement rose a stronger feeling– a _better_ feeling, one that he couldn’t name. He eyed the clock on the wall in front of him. Maybe there were perks to having English class at the end of the day.

*

Though class had let out five minutes ago, according to Garth’s wristwatch, he remained in the hall as the flow of passing students slowed to a trickle, trying his best to catch a glimpse through the classroom door’s window without being noticed. From his vantage point between the wall and lockers, he could see the guy who’d rescued him standing before Mr. Atlee’s desk, but he couldn’t see Mr. Atlee. It looked like the guy was getting chewed out, if his apparent silence was anything to go by. Garth pushed his glasses up on his nose and shuddered at Mr. Atlee’s imagined harsh words. What had that kid had been thinking when he’d claimed to own Garth’s Walkman? _He sure is brave…_

Garth had no idea what kept him rooted in place, idly bouncing with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. His Walkman’s current condition was definitely a worrying factor. But somehow, outweighing the fear was the intrigue. Just who _was_ this guy who’d saved his skin? Garth sensed that the right thing to do was thank him, although the notion filled him with trepidation. He’d always had trouble starting a conversation without things going horribly wrong. These days Garth didn’t speak to much of anyone from class– it was easier that way. But the guy deserved _some_ acknowledgement. Garth only had to take a deep breath, look him in the eye, and—

“Hey, what’s up?” Garth nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice near his ear. A wordless yelp escaped him as he spun around to find the kid on whom he’d been spying, standing before him with a relaxed, yet quizzical expression. Slowly Garth raised a hand and stammered out “Hi.” His other hand crept into his pocket as he took in the guy’s casual stance, his chest puffed out and chin held high. He hoped his face wasn’t flushing as badly as he felt it was.

“Hey, hope you didn’t mind what I did back there.” Garth’s savior stepped away from the door, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I mean, I’ve had bad teachers, but Atlee? He’s a piece of _work.”_

“No, no, it’s okay,” Garth blurted. His hands turned to fists in his pockets, but he managed to force out the words he’d been practicing. “Thank you!”

“Hey, no problem.” The guy nodded nonchalantly. “Bummer about your Walkman, though.”

_Walkman– bummer?!_ Garth’s hands flew from his pockets. “Wait, what happened?”

“Well, I thought he’d let me have it, right?” Garth’s savior replied, as collected as ever. “You know, let me off with a warning and all. But he’s still holding it hostage. He probably won’t give it back for another week.” He shrugged. “Sorry about that.”

“A week?” Garth felt the blood start to drain from his face. “No way!”

“Way!” the kid exclaimed. A disgruntled note entered his voice. “I mean, it’s totally pail. It’s bucket, right? Stealing our stuff might stop us from bringing it in, yeah, but if you ask me I think confiscating items only damages the bond of trust between teacher and student beyond any hope of repair.”

Garth didn’t hear a word. Around him the hallway rocked, as if an earthquake had begun under his feet. He surged toward the classroom door, futilely pressing his hands against the tiny window. “We gotta get it back.” _So close, but so far away…_

“From Atlee’s desk?” the guy said with a trade of doubt. “Sh’yeah, right. That drawer is a black hole. No light escapes it.”

“No, you don’t get it!” Ripping his face away from the window, Garth stared the guy down with what he hoped was the appropriate amount of desperation. He knew he was wigging out, and he didn’t want to seem mental, but he had to let him know that this was an emergency. “I got that for my birthday! If I lose it, my mom will be so PO’ed—”

“Okay, all right.” The guy held up his hands in a surprisingly easy acquiesce. “Get it back we shall. But first—” He thrust out his hand. “What’s your name again? I can never remember.”

Thrown off by the sudden introduction, Garth fumbled for words. “I’m Garth. Garth Algar.” He accepted the handshake. “Uh, what’s yours?”

The guy gave Garth a look that Garth usually took to mean _are you mental,_ but somehow this one lacked the same bite. “Wayne Campbell? You don’t know me?”

Garth shook his head. He’d seen the guy pretty much every day of his high school career, and even spotted him in the neighborhood a few times when he was raking leaves or taking out the trash, but if he’d ever learned the guy’s name, it hadn’t stuck.

“Really?” the guy stated, with a sense of disbelief. “Wayne Campbell? Doesn’t ring a bell? I’m the guy who did the morning announcements during spirit week, remember? You know, I told the school what the theme of the day was, and I ended it with _Goooooo_ —”

“We gotta go,” Garth cut in, the empty hallway drawing his attention. Now that school was out, teachers were sure to notice the two random students chatting in the hall, and if they didn’t come around to ask what they were up to, at least they’d tell them to get a move on. Any plotting had to be conducted quickly and quietly.

“Okay.” With that, Wayne took off down the hall, motioning for Garth to come along. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Garth Algar.”


	2. Chapter 2

The plan was devised as Garth and Wayne walked along, lowering their voices every time they passed an adult in the hall. At first it didn’t sound like it would work, but Wayne gradually put Garth’s growing concerns to rest.

“Okay, the door’s locked, so we gotta find a way to break in, right?”

“Or get the keys,” Garth offered. Lock picking had never interested him.

“Yeah, or get the keys…” Wayne rubbed his chin in thought. “If there was a way to make Mr. Atlee leave them behind where we could get them… or come to us…” His brow furrowed, as if he were working out an intense mathematical problem. “If we call him from the main office, he might come out.”

“The main office?” Garth repeated. “How would we do that?”

“Easy,” said Wayne. “I’m gonna go in there and tell them I missed the bus. They’ll let me call my ride. But instead, I’ll call Atlee. Hey– d’you think I should disguise my voice?”

Garth aimed for the low, thunderous tones of Miller, the school principal. “You mean like this?”

“Whoah!” Wayne’s eyebrows shot up. “Say that again, Garth!”

“You mean like _this?”_ On a roll, Garth launched into the impersonation that had been percolating inside his head for years. “Hi, I’m Principal Miller and I hate fun! You, stop running in the hallway! You, spit out your gum!”

“Oh man!” Abrupt laughter spilled from Wayne. “You sound just like him! All right, you know what that means.”

“What’s it mean?” Garth said, dropping the act in a flash.

“ _You_ have to call Atlee, Garth,” Wayne intoned. Laying his hand on Garth’s shoulder, he pointed him in the direction of the main office. “You go in there and ask to make a phone call. Then when Atlee comes in, you grab his keys, and then come back to unlock the door! It’s just that simple.”

“Simple?” The task didn’t sound anything close to simple to Garth. Rather, it struck him as _daunting._ “What if he finds out it was us?”

“He won’t,” Wayne said carelessly. “Not if you use Miller’s voice. Now, get in there! We don’t have much time.” He tapped Garth’s shoulder with his fist in an encouraging manner, but Garth didn’t feel encouraged. He stood dumbly, staring at the main office’s doors.

“How am I s’posed to grab his keys? I’ve never stolen anything before.”

“Oh, it’s easy,” said Wayne. “You just bump into him, like this—” He jogged backwards, putting some distance between himself and Garth, before striding purposefully forward. Garth forced himself not to move out of the way as Wayne’s shoulder connected solidly with his. “Oops!” Wayne stumbled backwards and sunk to the floor, and though Garth knew it was an act, he found himself extending a hand. “Hey, are you all right?” Wayne reached for the hand and pulled himself up, before dangling Garth’s house key in front of his eyes. A giant grin split his face. Garth felt like his eyes might pop out of his head.

“How’d you do that?!”

“Oh, it’s an ancient trick, passed down from older brother to younger brother.” Wayne held the key out, and Garth snatched it up. “I told you, it’s easy.”

Garth shook his head. _Not to me it isn’t._ “If it’s _that_ easy, you should do it.”

“But I can’t disguise my voice,” Wayne protested. “Not like y— oh, wait. Wait a minute.” He pondered the situation for a second, before heading back down the hallway in the direction from which they’d come. “Okay, I got an idea. Just go in there, Garth, and make the phone call.”

“But I can’t—” Garth struggled to spit the words out before Wayne disappeared. “I don’t know what to say.”

Groaning, Wayne returned to Garth’s side. “All right, all right.” He threw his backpack on the ground and dropped on one knee to unzip it, eventually unearthing a spiral notebook and a stubby pencil. “Lemme have your back.”

“Excuse me?”

“Turn around.” Wayne tore a piece of paper from the notebook and shot to his feet. He stared at Garth expectantly, while Garth tried to figure out what was going on. This guy was starting to seem certifiably cuckoo. Still, he had an idea, and if it worked… Garth turned, and Wayne moved behind him. He spread the notebook paper over Garth’s back and began scribbling on it. Garth tried not to squirm at the ticklish sensation.

“All right, here you go.” Wayne lifted the paper and handed it over Garth’s shoulder. “When you call Atlee, just read this.”

Garth feverishly scanned the page, and discovered he liked what he saw. He swallowed hard. “Woah. You’re like, really good with words, huh?” No wonder the guy never paid attention in English class. Apparently he could afford not to.

Wayne’s voice was dismissive. “Just go, all right? We can’t stand around here forever.”

“Okay.” Hurriedly Garth folded the paper and stuffed it into his flannel shirt’s pocket, before heading for the main office, trying to walk at a reasonable pace. If this worked… He could hardly dare to imagine. This was the most a fellow student had ever tried to help Garth. What did Wayne find so special about him?

The office lady smiled when Garth walked in, so he figured that had to be a good sign. “What can I do for you, young man?”

“Um… I need to use the phone.” With effort, Garth pushed his hair back from his face. He wished he could hide behind his bangs, but he had a feeling it would look suspicious. “My mom’s s’posed to come pick me up.”

For a second he didn’t think the office lady would buy it, but she smiled again and stood up. “Of course. The phone’s right over there.” She gestured to a corner of the room, where a phone was mounted to the wall in front of a filing cabinet. It didn’t look secluded enough for a private call, but for Garth’s purposes, it would have to do.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, heading in the phone’s direction. On the wall beside it was a laminated directory, with instructions on dialing a number within the school. Garth picked up the receiver, steadying himself with a deep breath. If he pulled this off, he’d get his Walkman back. He had to keep thinking of that. Before he could talk himself out of it, he dialed the number for Mr. Atlee’s classroom.

On the third ring, the terribly familiar voice came through. “Hello?” Garth tried not to gulp audibly as he turned his back on the office lady, running his fingers through his hair. His palms were sweating, and for a moment he had no idea what to say. Then he remembered the script that Wayne had written, and pulled it out of his pocket.

“Hello, this is Harold Miller from the front office,” Garth said, slipping into his Miller imitation. Focusing on the voice and the script at the same time was unexpectedly difficult, but the dire situation forced him not to slip up. “There’s a man up here who wants to see you.”

When Mr. Atlee replied, it sounded as if he’d been thrown off-guard. Garth couldn’t blame him. “Did he say who he is and what he’s here for?”

“Of course. His name is Harry Pitts.” Garth fought the sudden urge to crack up over the name. It was hilarious, but now was _not_ the time. “I believe he’s here to deliver a shipment of books?”

There was a pause, so long that Garth was sure he’d been found out. He shifted his weight and tried not to glance over his shoulder. Was this taking too long? Did the office lady suspect anything? Then, finally, Mr. Atlee’s voice returned. “That shipment was scheduled to come in next week! What’s he doing here _now?”_

_He bought it!_ A gleeful feeling overwhelmed Garth. It was hard to stay in Miller’s voice range as he mentally high-fived himself. “I don’t know, Atlee, but Mr. Pitts is here and he’s _very_ insistent that he talk with you.” What a line. Garth knew he couldn’t have come up with that if he’d tried.

Mr. Atlee sighed heavily through his nose. “Sure. Front office, you said?”

“Front office.”

“Be right there.”

Garth replaced the phone in its cradle, his nervous energy slowly dissipating. For a second he stood there, unable to believe that he’d really done it. Then a voice in his head begged him to get a move on. Any moment now, Wayne would be waiting with his Walkman!

“Did you get through all right?” the office lady asked as Garth marched stiffly past her desk. Garth nodded. He didn’t _think_ she’d overheard his phone call, but just to be on the safe side, he had to get out of there ASAP.

“Why don’t you have a seat and wait for your mom?” the lady suggested, from behind Garth’s back. He shook his head. “I— I told her I’d meet her at the bus loop. Thanks.” With that, he fled the scene before he was forced to dig himself out of any holes.

Moving briskly down the hallway, Garth almost halted when Mr. Atlee blew past him from the direction in which he was headed. He thought for sure his teacher would stop him and ask what he was still doing here after class, but Mr. Atlee didn’t even glance his way. His face was frozen in a deeply unpleasant scowl. As Garth walked, he couldn’t help but hide his snickering behind his hand. If Mr. Atlee was unhappy _now,_ wait until he found out what had happened to his keys…

At the end of the hallway, Garth spotted Wayne near Mr. Atlee’s classroom, slightly hunched over with his arms around his torso. As soon as he saw Garth, he came forward to meet him. “And he’s back!” He nodded to the door. “I left the keys in the lock.”

Though the need to leave was urgent, Garth found it vitally important to ask, “Did you get my Walkman?”

Nodding, Wayne lifted his shirt to reveal the Walkman he’d been hugging to his chest. Joy burst through Garth. _He did it! He really did it!_ He started to grab the Walkman, but Wayne backed away, shooting side glances down the hall. “C’mon, you wanna get spotted? Let’s go!”

Garth didn’t need to be told twice. Fortunately, since Mr. Atlee’s classroom was at the end of the hall, the exit wasn’t far. He and Wayne raced for the doors, not breaking their stride until they’d descended the steps and made it onto the sidewalk. A small group of students lounged near the bus loop, but most of the buses had already arrived, leaving few bystanders. Normally Garth would try not to look at them as he walked past, but now buoyancy propelled him. He jumped up and down as Wayne tried to keep up with him, both of them collapsing into laughter and cheers.

“Oh, man!” Wayne gasped as Garth began to settle down. “That was outrageous. Here you go.” He pulled out the Walkman, and Garth couldn’t keep from grinning as he took it back. While he stuffed his Walkman into his backpack, Wayne removed his cap to run his fingers through his hair, before shoving it on his head in a backwards position.

“Thank you!” Garth said, wishing there was something more he could say. Wayne’s total selflessness astounded him. He’d never said a word to Garth before, but in one day he’d spoken up on Garth’s behalf, allowed himself to be punished for Garth’s mistake, and stayed after school not only to hatch a plan that would help Garth, but to set that plan in motion as well. None of the kids whose names Garth actually knew would have done such a thing for him. In fact, he was used to them not paying him much attention at all.

Wayne cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I should go now, since I missed my bus and all.”

_No…_ A bitter sense of disappointment enveloped Garth. After all that, Wayne was just going to head home? He couldn’t let this moment slip through his fingers, as had happened time and time before. Futilely he searched for the words to convince Wayne that he should stay, that they should hang out and _do_ something and have a good time. But nothing that came to mind sounded anything less than mental.

“So what,” he began, trying to summon an attitude of apathy, “you’re gonna walk home?”

“Yeah, it’s not far.” Wayne shrugged. “I guess I’ll see you tomo—”

For the second time that day, inspiration ignited. Garth didn’t stop to think of how weird he must sound. “You could come home with me!”

Wayne’s forehead wrinkled. “Uh, what?”

_Crap,_ that had come out wrong. Garth felt like shrinking back from Wayne, but he held his ground. “My mom’ll… drop you off.” It seemed reasonable, since he knew Wayne lived in the same neighborhood. “Where do you live, anyway?”

Wayne’s eyebrows quirked up, but he didn’t react further. “I live at 2234 Pine Way.”

Though he’d been told it wasn’t polite, Garth felt his jaw drop. “No kidding! _I_ live on Pine Way! 2235!”

Now it was Wayne’s turn to gawk. “No way!”

“Way!”

“No _way.”_

“Way.”

“No—” Taking a deep breath, Wayne pulled himself together. “How come you don’t ride my bus?”

Garth fidgeted with the last button on his flannel. “My mom drives me.” It always felt kind of silly to say that, since so many of Garth’s classmates had already gotten their driver’s licenses, but Wayne only nodded in sage understanding. Grateful for the lack of teasing remarks, Garth began to walk in the direction of the student pickup zone, and Wayne followed.

“Hey,” Garth said after a moment, the oddity of his discovery finally emerging. “If you live across from me, how come we’ve never hung out before?” He tried not to think that maybe Wayne just hadn’t wanted to say hello.

“Oh, well, I haven’t always lived in Aurora.” Wayne reached up to scratch the back of his head, under his cap. It was hard for Garth to tell, but he thought Wayne seemed a little uncomfortable. “We came here when I was eleven.”

_Oh, well, that explains it._ If Wayne had arrived in Aurora at a younger age, Garth was convinced that his parents would have forced him to befriend him. They’d done that so much throughout Garth’s childhood that he couldn’t remember now, looking back on it, if any of his friendships back then had been genuine, or just a product of his parents’ belief that boys his age should have someone to play with. It really hadn’t been that much of a problem at the time. Garth was content to dig in the dirt or scratch on the sidewalk with chalk, until the neighborhood kids got bored or until his mom called him in for lunch. But as he got older and acquaintances drifted out of his life, his parents had finally given up on trying to get him to socialize. When it came to the kind of friendship where you could tell the other person all your darkest secrets, or where you could spend a whole day with them and not want to strangle them by the end of it, Garth had pretty much resigned himself to never having that experience. He figured it wasn’t so bad, because he didn’t know what he was missing. Until now.

“Where’d you move from?”

“Um—” Suddenly Wayne stopped dead on the sidewalk, ogling the woman who had just slid out of the cream-colored Toyota beside them. “Is that your mom?”

“Hi, Garth!” Mrs. Algar cried as she strolled up, her arms outspread. Before Garth could tell her no, she pulled him in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “How was school?”

“Fine, Mom.” Garth shot a glance at Wayne, annoyed to see the broad smirk working its way across his face. _Great._ He stepped away from his mom as she sized Wayne up, puzzled.

“How do you do, ma’am?” Still wearing a shit-eating grin, Wayne offered his hand, which Mrs. Algar took in confusion.

“Garth, who is this?”

“This is Wayne Campbell,” Garth quietly explained. Sometimes in public, he felt he had to shout to be heard over all the various conversations surrounding him, but he never raised his voice around his mother. “He missed his bus and needs a ride.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am, I live on your street,” Wayne announced. He strode up to the car’s backseat with the kind of confidence that Garth could only dream about possessing. Smiling, Mrs. Algar headed over to unlock the car. “I guess that’s all right, then.”

The car took off, though not very quickly because Garth’s mom was the most cautious driver Garth had ever known. Sometimes it bugged him when she hit the brakes at every yellow light, leaving cars honking in her wake or speeding to overtake her, but today he couldn’t care less, thanks to the company in the backseat. Checking the rearview mirror, Garth found that Wayne had pretty much claimed the space as his own, his arms slung over the headrests and his legs spread out. His eyes darted from Garth to Mrs. Algar, lingering on her.

“So Wayne,” Mrs. Algar began brightly, oblivious to the fact that she’d caught Wayne’s attention. “Your mother is Beatrice Campbell, is that correct? From across the street?”

“She sure is,” Wayne declared.

“I thought so.” Mrs. Algar turned up the radio, sending a smooth saxophone riff swirling through the car. Garth wanted to groan. First she had to embrace him at the bus loop, and now she was torturing him with Kenny G? He couldn’t wait for the ride to be over.

“I can’t believe we’ve never gotten you and Garth together,” Mrs. Algar continued as she daintily came to a stop at the first yellow light. “It would have been perfect to have a kid his age across the street.”

“Well, we haven’t been here too long,” Wayne explained. “My mom’s from Chicago, see? So we lived there for a while, and then we moved here. My dad’s from— well, she and my dad met at this thing…”

_Whatever._ Having already heard as much as he needed, Garth allowed Wayne’s voice to gradually fade into the background. He unzipped his backpack, suddenly wondering if Mr. Atlee had done anything to his Walkman while it was in his temporary possession. Popping the Walkman open revealed _...And Justice For All_ nestled safely within. To Garth’s utter relief, nothing appeared out of place.

“Hey,” Wayne exclaimed, cutting off whatever he’d been blabbing about mid-stream. “Is that the new Metallica?” He lunged forward to get a better look, while Garth twisted around, holding up the cassette. He could swear he saw Wayne’s eyes sparkle as he drank in the sight.

“I got it the day it came out,” Garth stated, remembering how exciting it had been for his father to drive him down to the record store. He was pleasantly surprised that Wayne liked this kind of music, though he expected it shouldn’t have come as a shock. With his long hair and ripped jeans, it clearly wasn’t Top 40 that Wayne favored.

“Excellent.” Wayne nodded furiously in approval. “My mom said I should stop spending all my allowance on music, but I’m saving up to get this one and also _State of Euphoria_.”

Upon hearing that, Garth felt like a rubber ball that had been tossed down the stairs. He tried not to visibly freak out, but he couldn’t keep from bouncing up and down in his seat. “Oh man, Anthrax! They’re the coolest!”

“I know, right?” The grin on Wayne’s face mirrored Garth’s. “Of course, if you ask me, no band in the world can compete against the greatest rock group of our modern era. The one, the only—”

“Aerosmith!” Garth blurted, at the same time as Wayne. Wayne’s eyes grew wide, and he excitedly slammed his fist on his knee. “Yeah, Aerosmith! All right!” He held out his hand, palm up. It took Garth a moment to realize what he was asking for, but once he did, he pressed his palm against Wayne’s in a gentle high five. Then he shook himself, his hair flying into his eyes. Just when he thought Wayne couldn’t get any cooler…!

“What's your favorite song?” Wayne demanded to know. “By Aerosmith?”

Garth didn’t even have to think twice. _“Sing with me, sing for the years! Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears…”_

_“Sing with me, just for today!”_ Wayne jumped in. _“Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord take you away…”_ He hummed the building drum part while Garth mimed it, wishing he had his sticks in his hands. They burst into what was in Garth’s opinion the best part of the song:

_“Dream on! Dream on! Dream on, dream until your dreams come true!”_ Wayne started to sing the guitar part, moving his fingers against invisible strings, while Garth nearly fell sideways, trying to suppress his laughter. This was all so unreal. What were the chances that the guy he’d sat next to in English class for nearly three months not only lived across the street from him, but also dug all the same music that he did? It was as if some God had decided to bestow upon Garth the ideal person with whom to hang out and associate. Almost like… _like he’d actually made a friend._

“Garth, settle down, honey,” Garth’s mom said reproachfully. She pulled up at the curb, while Garth reluctantly returned to a forward-facing position. “Well, this must be the place. Here you are, Wayne.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Algar,” Wayne said, the same dopey grin he’d worn when he first spotted Garth’s mom appearing on his face. “ _Au revoir.”_ Grabbing his backpack, he opened the backseat door, before thumping the passenger seat from behind. “Garth! I’ll see you in class tomorrow, all right?”

“All right.” Garth raised a hand in parting, a shy grin making its way across his face. He adjusted his glasses and watched as Wayne trudged up to his doorstep, as his mother swung the car around. The exuberant feeling he’d had when running out to the bus loop coursed steadily through him, making it hard to stay still.

“He seems like a nice boy,” Mrs. Algar reflected as she pulled into the driveway.

Garth nodded, still staring out the window. Clutching his Walkman, his smile grew broader. One thing was for sure– Wayne Campbell had been the perfect addition to his day, and Garth hoped to get to know him further.


	3. Chapter 3

“Seriously? What makes your brother’s gig more important than band practice?”

Neil sighed noisily into the phone. “Well, it’s how he makes a living, y’know? If he needs the drum set, he’s getting the drum set, period.”

“Can’t he borrow one from the venue?” Wayne Campbell shoved a handful of potato chips into his mouth as he paced around his bedroom, the phone’s cord stretching with every step. At his desk, to the right of the closed door, a half-filled worksheet was spread over his untouched math textbook. Calling Neil up had seemed like a better alternative to homework, before Neil had to go and break the news that their regular Sunday band practice would have to be cancelled.

“You haven’t seen the venue,” Neil said ruefully. “It’s cramped, man! And I don’t just mean their style. They can barely fit all the blue-hairs who come in to relive the greatest hits of their 20’s. Which are probably from the 1920’s.”

Wayne grimaced. Though he had never been to the listening room that hosted the jazz brunch where Neil’s brother regularly performed, he could picture the sorry scene very clearly. “It sure sounds pail.”

“It’s bucket,” Neil agreed. “Sorry, man. You know I would if we could.”

Wayne shook his head in frustration. Band practice with Neil was the highlight of every week, and to have it snatched away from him didn’t exactly lift his spirits. “So we’re just gonna hold off until next week?”

Even though Neil wasn’t physically present, Wayne could picture the pointed look on his face. “Unless we can find an actual drummer, yeah.”

“Hey. _I’m_ an actual drummer.” Or so Wayne was always quick to remind Neil. Sure, it wasn’t easy being Bloodjun’s drummer, lead guitarist, and lead singer all at once, but hey, not every metal band could brag about having a multi-instrumentalist in the group. Especially not one that played all the instruments at the same time.

“I mean a drummer with his own drum set,” Neil clarified. “Who isn’t a total jazz purist, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Wayne collapsed into his swivel chair and pushed it back from the desk. Glumly he wadded his empty potato chip bag into a ball and aimed for the wastebasket. _Hey! He shoots, he scores._ But the small victory didn’t make him feel any better.

“We’re still on for Saturday though, right?” Surely nothing could prevent Neil from going to the movies.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Neil reassured Wayne. “The momster said it’s all right for me to take her car. Only thing is, she doesn’t want me driving too late at night, so I might have to stay over at your place.”

The sourness of having band practice ruined vanished in a flash. “All right, party! Bonus. You’re always welcome at Casa de Campbell. Seriously, man, my mom loves you!”

_“Excellent,”_ Neil enthused. If he’d been in the room, Wayne imagined he’d offer a high five. He grinned wildly at the empty air.

“Hey, I talked to Jan Wheeler today.”

“Really?” Wayne blurted, not bothering to hide his eagerness. “Did she mention me at all?”

Wayne could hear the eye-roll in Neil’s voice. “No way, man. She doesn’t know you exist.”

“She knows I exist,” Wayne protested, a bit miffed. Why was this the second time today that he’d heard that? Didn’t his work during spirit week count for anything anymore?

The role of morning announcer during the amp-up to the Homecoming game had fallen on Wayne’s shoulders, thanks to Neil pulling some strings with Stan Keillor, the class president. Though Wayne ordinarily didn’t care for school spirit, he’d taken his job very seriously. Armed with a supply of sound effects that Neil had borrowed from the A/V club, the two of them had produced a series of skits that covered the theme of the day and revealed what the next day’s theme would be. The response had been tremendous. Half the junior class started greeting Wayne in the halls, and some had even claimed he should join the Homecoming parade, though Wayne refused to go that far.

It was the most fun he'd had in all his two-and-nearly-a-half years of high school.

But a month had passed, and the name “Wayne Campbell” was no longer on everyone’s lips. And now Wayne was beginning to think that the morning announcements weren’t all on which he should hang his reputation. He still needed to actually talk to Jan, after all. He’d been smitten from the moment he first spotted her chatting with her friends by her locker. All three were beautiful, but Wayne only had eyes for the girl in the center. From her hoop earrings and bubblegum-pink lipstick to her open-toe pumps and bedazzled jean jacket, she almost resembled a living Barbie doll, minus the freakishly small waist and giant boobs. Her eyes, however, were what attracted Wayne the most, as dark and luscious as a chocolate bar. Rendered insensible, it took him a moment after she’d left for him to pick his jaw off the floor. _Is she the mayor of Shwing City?_

Neil’s voice brought Wayne back to the present. “I dunno, man. I don’t think it counts if you haven’t talked to her.”

“C’mon, Neil. It’s not like I’ve ever had _trouble_ talking to girls.” Wayne’s eyes rolled up to the poster of Madonna he’d tacked above his desk, and he grinned at her as if she could see him. “Girls just have trouble talking to me. I’ve been cursed with an aura that both attracts and repels.”

“Haven’t we all?” Neil groaned. “Listen, I gotta get off the phone. If I don’t start my homework soon, the momster will _not_ be happy.”

“Okay, cool.” Wayne pushed himself with his feet over to the phone’s cradle at his bedside table. “I'll see ya tomorrow, Neil.”

“See ya.” Neil hung up, and Wayne followed suit, sighing. Chatting with Neil was one of the few things that made his after-school hours bearable. All that stood in the way of his freedom now was dinner with the family and a big chunk of homework. But it really wasn’t so much the homework that bothered him, as it was the lack of anything to do later.

“Wayne!” His mother’s shout sounded muffled from behind Wayne’s closed bedroom door. Wayne sprang up to open the door a crack. “What?”

“Dinner’s ready!”

“Excellent!” Any excuse not to finish his math worksheet. Wayne turned out the lights and closed the door behind him, descending the stairs two at a time.

“Hats off at the table, Wayne,” Wayne’s father greeted him as he entered the kitchen. He was already seated, a heaping plate set before him. Wayne scoffed wordlessly, but did as he was told, setting his trusty cap on the kitchen counter. He hastily inspected the dishes that his mom had laid out. Pork chops, green beans, baked potatoes… _Lose the greens and it’s a meal._ Wayne helped himself, before sitting down at the table on his father’s left side.

“So Wayne, I’ve got some good news,” Wayne's mother commented as she brought her plate to the table. Wayne cocked his head. “What?”

Mrs. Campbell’s bright red lipstick split apart, her teeth gleaming. “I talked to David today, and he said he’ll be coming home for Thanksgiving!”

“Davey?!” Wayne blurted, nearly dropping the fork on which he’d speared a slice of pork chop. “Is coming home? Is coming _here?_ Excellent!”

It had been months since David Campbell had made an appearance in the town where he’d completed all the education he was bound to receive. Wayne honestly couldn’t remember seeing him since New Year’s. It was tough not only to be stationed in Florida with the US Southern Command, too far from Illinois for any hopes of regular visits, but also to have a fiancée who was apparently David’s number one priority. Letters and phone calls came frequently, but Wayne had been looking forward to Davey’s next personal appearance for a long time. He couldn’t hide the visible expression of his joy. _Only two more weeks to go._

“Could you pass the butter, honey?” Mr. Campbell murmured as he cut open his baked potato. Mrs. Campbell handed it to Wayne, who dutifully handed it to his father. They ate quietly for a few minutes, savoring the food.

“Hey Mom,” Wayne said, once he’d managed to choke down his first bite of green beans. “Can Neil stay over on Saturday night, when we come back from the movies? His mom doesn’t want him breaking curfew.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Campbell’s back straightened, and her eyes grew bright. Wayne felt like snickering. _What’d I tell you, Neil? She likes you._

“I haven’t seen Neil in a while! Is he doing all right?”

“He’s fine, I guess.” Wayne pushed a few green beans behind his empty potato skin. Really, “ _I guess”_ was the easiest answer. Though they saw each other in school, talked to each other most evenings, and met once a week for band practice, Wayne hadn’t really known lately what Neil was up to on a personal level. The thought came, as it always did, with a mild sort of sting. “Sheesh, you don’t mention a guy for a while and suddenly everyone thinks he’s in a coma.”

“I was just curious, Wayne,” said Mrs. Campbell, reaching for her water glass. Wayne had to hand it to his mom– she knew how to walk the line between patience and frustration. He’d never known a mom to err on either side. “And how’s the band coming along?”

Wayne shrugged. “Well, we had to cancel practice this week ‘cause Neil’s brother is a hardass, but—”

“Wayne!” his father spoke up. _“Language.”_

“All right, I’m sorry.” Wayne held his palms up. “All I’m saying is, the guy knows nothing about how to rock, and yet he’s the one raking in the bucks? Sh’yeah, right! As if anyone would pay to hear a bunch of guys running through scales for an hour.”

“Some might say the same about your band, eh?” Mr. Campbell commented, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Hey.” Wayne let go of his fork to point a finger towards his father. “Just because Bloodjun hasn’t been booked yet doesn’t mean we won’t. We melt faces, man. There’s no chance of that with the stuff Christopher’s band plays. At most, the audience will feel a slight breeze.”

“As long as you’re having fun,” Mrs. Campbell said, in a cheerful tone that usually irritated Wayne. _Having fun_ wasn’t really the point of the band, though there was no point if it _wasn’t_ fun. This was something on which Wayne had chosen to stake his future, for better or for worse. But he didn’t intend to argue with his mother about it, because one thing moms were never very good at was understanding their son’s ambitions. _Hey, could be worse, at least she hasn’t told me I’m useless and will never amount to anything._

Wayne had just cleared his plate when his mom spoke again. “Who was that boy you came home from school with today?”

“Oh, Garth Algar?” The afternoon’s events came flooding back, from the talking-to Mr. Atlee had given Wayne after class, to the Aerosmith singalong in which he and Garth had partaken on their ride home. Just reflecting on it was as exhilarating as living it had been. “He lives across the street. We have English class together.” And potentially, his presence would make English class more bearable from now on. Wayne would have never guessed the fountain of cool that ran beneath Garth’s still waters. _Funny how much you miss about a guy when he keeps his mouth shut all the time._

“Oh, of course,” said Mrs. Campbell. “Hillary and Beev’s son.”

“Wait, wait.” Wayne gestured outward with his hands. _“Beev’s_ son? As in, Beev who runs the convenience store, _his_ son?”

“Well, yes.” Wayne’s mother sounded bemused. “You didn’t know?”

Wayne shook his head. _You learn something new every day…_ In the space of only a few hours, the mysterious Garth Algar who sat next to Wayne in English class had grown significantly less mysterious, and more and more fascinating. He couldn’t wait to grill Garth about all that he had learned the next time they saw each other.

“May I be excused?” Wayne positioned his knife and fork in an X-shape across his plate. “I’m gonna watch TV.”

Mr. Campbell eyed Wayne. “Have you finished your homework?”

“Um…” On the one hand, slaving over a textbook was a completely bucket way to spend the night, but on the other hand, Wayne had learned too many times that bad grades equaled negative consequences. “No. But wouldn’t it make you happy if I said I did?”

The lack of amusement on his father’s face spoke for itself. Glowering, Wayne got up from the table and deposited his dish into the sink, before stalking out of the room, grabbing his cap on the way.

The rest of Wayne’s homework didn’t take long. He breezed through his Englsh vocab and completed his reading for US history in a flash, though his brain felt numb by the end of it. Math and science were the only tricky parts, since algebra had been designed by Satan and physics was pretty much just math with more moving parts. Still, it was all over in a couple hours. As soon as the last problem had been solved, Wayne jumped from his desk and headed back downstairs. Though his bedroom was the most personal place in the house, full of posters that defined Wayne’s tastes and even including a phone that he’d talked his parents into installing, for the past few months he’d only ever used it for homework, phone calls, and sleep. Everything had changed for the Campbell household when they’d had a second TV put in their basement.

Wayne flipped on the light and headed down the steps into what he was beginning to think of as his refuge. It wasn’t as private as he liked it to be, especially on weekends when his mom was running laundry, but most nights his parents generally left him alone until they yelled down that it was time to go to bed. Over the summer, Wayne had moved some of his stuff downstairs– his amp, his guitar, and his boombox, to name a few. Along with the trusty TV remote, it was all Wayne could possibly need. Sure, his parents had insisted on decorating with some exceptionally heinous paintings, and sure, an unpleasantly musty smell often clung to the walls, but Wayne wasn’t complaining. The basement belonged to him.

The only problem, of course, was that such a place was better shared. Wayne felt the emptiness creep in as he turned on the TV and began flipping through channels. It had been three years since his brother packed up for the Army, and though it had been strange at first, Wayne had never felt particularly bothered. He had Neil and a couple other guys from school to turn to when the boredom hit. Together, there was no shortage of good times to be had. But lately, now that Neil had gotten his driver’s license and left Wayne in the dust, and now that all his teachers were starting to talk about college admissions and what he should do with the rest of his life, the feeling of missing out had returned in full force.

After clicking through several uninteresting shows in rapid succession, Wayne finally hit upon his old standby, MTV. MTV likewise were spinning an old standby. _Hush, hush, keep it down now, this is scary…_ Or was it “this is Gary?” Wayne had never really cared enough about the song to make out the lyrics. Although _god,_ that spiky-haired singer was a babe. _This is definitely meant to be watched with the sound off._

Thoughts of the babe onscreen soon brought another babe to mind– Jan Wheeler. Wayne sighed as he recalled the way her skin seemed to glow, and how her long lashes fluttered over her eyes. He turned the volume down on the TV, before reaching over for his guitar. For several days now, a riff had regularly popped into his head every time his mind drifted to the lovely Jan. If only he could figure out how to play it… and put words to it that didn’t sound like total crap. Writing a song for Jan was the perfect way for her to take notice of him.

Of course, Wayne had kept the idea away from Neil, because he wasn’t sure sappy love songs were exactly Bloodjun’s style. There was a time and place for them, but there was also a time and place for the twisted, edgy stuff that heavily metallic groups like Bloodjun were known for. Those songs also needed some work, but having immersed himself in hard rock for most of his life, Wayne found it came naturally to him. Neil had taken a bit more convincing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been raised on the same diet of Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and Iron Maiden that Wayne had. It was more that he hadn’t wanted to play like them, or even play at all.

“Wouldn’t it be great to work at a radio station?” Neil had said one summer afternoon, as the boombox in Wayne’s basement blared the week’s Top 40 countdown. “Just show up to work to spin records all day.”

“You don’t want to be _behind_ the music, Neil,” Wayne had said, in hopes of setting his friend straight. “You want to be in front of it! Otherwise the chicks will never notice you.”

“What about Handsome Dan?” Neil shot back. “Have you heard his show? I bet he gets mobbed by chicks coming into work every day.”

“Good call, my friend, but you are not Handsome Dan,” Wayne replied. “You’re too good to waste your time working in radio! You should be rocking out onstage.”

“Yeah, right.” Neil’s eyes shot dismally to the ceiling. “You don’t happen to know a band that needs a bass player?”

It was then that the idea had come to Wayne, like a lightning bolt shooting down from the heavens. He leaned over to rest his hand on Neil’s shoulder. “I believe I might have a solution to your problem.”

Bloodjun was formed in the following week. They’d been on a strict rehearsal schedule for four months now, and as far as Wayne was concerned, they were getting pretty good. Well, as good as they could be with Wayne doing nearly all the work. He didn’t resent it, but switching between instruments mid-song was getting a little difficult. Though he hated to admit it, he understood Neil’s interest in getting a new drummer. Or maybe they just needed to put in more practice hours. _Which we could totally do if I didn’t have to borrow Christopher’s drums…_

Hell, if Wayne had a drum set of his own, he wouldn’t even have to go to Neil’s place to practice. Neil could come to him, and since he had his license, they wouldn’t have to wait until Sunday when Wayne’s parents were free to drive him. He might not be able to stay very long on weeknights, but at least it would be _something_ for Wayne to do that didn’t involve sitting on his ass watching TV and trying to think of songs that never went anywhere. Those things were good in small doses, but it certainly wasn’t a _lifestyle._ Not to mention, it would make up for all the times over the summer when Neil wasn’t free to hang out. Wayne hadn’t realized how much getting a license and a summer job changed a person. At least Bloodjun’s rehearsals were a good excuse to see his friend.

But maybe, just maybe… Wayne wouldn’t have to rely on just one friend to provide him with entertainment. Not now that he’d met Garth, placed ever-so-conveniently in the neighborhood. It wouldn’t be like hanging out with Neil, who had stuck by Wayne’s side since the day they’d ended up in the same homeroom, freshman year. But Wayne was a firm believer that the more, the merrier, and Garth certainly interested him enough to test that belief.

“We will be friends,” Wayne muttered, half as encouragement and half as a way of speaking it into existence. “Oh, yes. We will be friends.”

Satisfied, he turned the TV’s volume back up and plucked at a guitar string. Adam Curry was onscreen, introducing the next block of videos. It was time to put Wayne's talent to the test by playing along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song from the music video Wayne watches is actually called "Voices Carry" (by Til Tuesday), not "This Is Scary" or even "This Is Gary." Try telling that to me before I looked it up, though.


	4. Chapter 4

When Wayne turned from his locker on Thursday morning, he found himself immobilized. Right across the hall stood Jan, peering into her compact mirror as she dabbed on her lip gloss. She was alone, which made Wayne’s heart sing, but the sight that had frozen him was the T-shirt she wore. Stretching across her chest were the letters LED ZEPPELIN, emblazoned above the art from their first album.

_All right._ This had to be some sort of sign. Without stopping to think, Wayne slammed his locker door shut and swaggered over to where Jan was standing, carefully tucking his hair behind his ears. He wished he’d thought to check his breath before heading over, but it was too late now.

“Hi.” Confused eyes rose to meet Wayne’s. _God, she’s even more perfect up close._ And taller than he’d anticipated. He tilted his chin slightly to maintain eye contact. “I like your shirt. You like Led Zeppelin?”

“Yeah, they’re great.” Jan snapped her compact shut to properly size Wayne up. Though Wayne couldn’t penetrate her cool exterior, he noticed a slight softening in her face as she determined Wayne’s harmlessness. “Do you like them?”

“Sh’ _yeah,_ of course. They’re the Hammer of the Gods!” Emboldened, Wayne broke into a spontaneous rendition of “Immigrant Song,” tackling all the parts at once. He watched with delight as Jan’s perfectly composed features began to slip. She bit the inside of her cheek, looking for all the world like she would burst out laughing any second. _Good!_ Laughter was usually the key to a girl’s heart.

“What’s your favorite song?” Wayne asked, after winding down “Immigrant Song.” “By the Zep?”

A fond smile touched Jan’s face, nearly sending Wayne reeling. _She’s such a babe!_ “You don’t have to grill me. I’m not a poser. Unlike… _some_ people I know.”

“Okay, all right.” Though Wayne was still curious, he decided to let it go. “Sorry about that.” Confidently he held out his hand. “I’m Wayne Campbell.”

“I know who you are.” Despite this, Jan took Wayne’s hand. “Jan Wheeler.”

The smug _get a load of that, Neil_ that Wayne wanted to blurt transitioned into wonderment the instant Jan touched his hand. He shook it heartily, marveling at how smooth her skin felt. For a fleeting moment, he realized why it was that people who had met their idols chose to never wash their hands again.

“I’d better get to class,” Jan said, letting go of Wayne’s hand. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Yeah,” Wayne murmured hazily. He weakly waved. “Bye.” A wide, silly grin filled his face as he watched Jan hurry down the hall. Once she was gone, he spun around and punched the air. _“Yes!”_ It looked like Neil had just lost some ammunition when it came to teasing Wayne.

As Wayne collected his backpack and headed off to his first class, he caught sight of none other than Neil in the hall ahead of him. Bursting with enthusiasm, Wayne rushed forward to greet him– only to haul off when he realized that Neil was busy talking to another dude, whose name Wayne couldn’t remember. He watched the two of them enter the nearest classroom, side by side, and felt an odd sensation stirring in his chest, but he couldn’t figure out what the sensation was, exactly.

Then the bell rang, and with that, all thoughts of Neil were abandoned in the rush to get a hall pass.

*

“Whoa! What is this place, a hospital or something? You could crack an egg, cook it, and eat it right off these floors!”

The floors in question supported Garth’s house, to which Wayne had been invited after school. What he’d noticed immediately, and what he couldn’t get over, was how _clean_ the place was. Everything felt spacious and airy, without a trace of clutter. An immaculate white tablecloth lay over the dining room table, with fine china plates neatly stacked atop each other and safely locked behind glass cupboard doors. The kitchen’s linoleum was spotless, a sweet whiff of cinnamon and lemons hanging in the air. And the living room which Wayne was currently inspecting seemed to have been put together by some genius decorator who knew exactly how to situate the furniture to best stimulate the senses. Around the coffee table, the chairs and couch were perfectly arranged, and family photos hung proudly on the wall.

One photo in particular drew Wayne’s attention. He came closer to gawk at the image of the dweebish Beev Algar, his spectacles perched high on his nose and his tie perfectly straight, sitting beside the total smoking hottie that was Garth’s mom, her sandy hair fluffed up and a string of pearls adorning her neck. In her lap sat a chubby baby with an astonishingly recognizable grin. Wayne grinned too as he tapped on the photo, glancing at Garth over his shoulder. “Hey, who’s this charming fellow?”

“That’s me,” Garth said simply. He’d been fairly quiet since Wayne had stepped through the front door, reacting to Wayne’s enthusiastic observations with nothing more than a skittery sort of smile. Wayne didn’t take his silence personally. He’d come to realize in two days that Garth was more of a thinker than a doer. _Whatever works for him, works for me._

“Wow.” Wayne turned back to the photo, letting out a long whistle. “Garth, your mom is an absolute babe! She doesn’t look a day over 25!”

_“Wayne,”_ Garth said tightly, sounding like he didn’t want to find out where this conversation was heading. “That’s my _mom…”_

“Well, I’m just stating the truth.” Wayne turned around and walked over to the coffee table, surveying the rest of the room. Garth’s eyes followed him as he sipped from the glass of Kool-Aid that he’d poured for himself earlier.

“My mom said not to put anything on the coffee table,” he warned, in reference to Wayne’s own drink. “Unless there’s a coaster.”

Wayne nodded, though his interest in the living room was fading quickly. Honestly, Garth’s house was nice– but it was _too_ nice. He didn’t feel comfortable even sitting on the couch, as if his uncleanliness would rub off on the fabric and soil it irreparably.

“Where do you go when you want to hang?” he asked. “The basement?”

Garth shook his head. “We don’t have a basement.”

“What do you mean?” Wayne strode over to the couch and stared at the floor beneath his feet. “There’s a trapdoor right here.” He bent over and pretended to throw the trapdoor open, before lowering himself so that from Garth’s point of view, it looked as if he had walked down an invisible flight of stairs. Hearing no audible response, he shot to his feet to find Garth shaking silently, flailing around as if he’d just witnessed the greatest comedy show on earth. It was kind of weird to see him laugh without making a sound, but Wayne was pleased to have elicited such a reaction.

“Seriously,” he said as he rejoined Garth’s side, “where do you go to hang out?”

“Um…” Garth’s eyebrows shot up with a sudden spark. “We could go to my room!”

“All right, lead the way!” Wayne slapped Garth’s shoulder as he turned around. Garth gave him a puzzled look, but didn’t remark on the action.

Upstairs, Wayne was relieved to see that the hallway wasn’t as spotless as the living room. A few My Little Pony figurines lay strewn around a closed door, posted with a sign that read 😊 😊 KEEP OUT- AND I MEAN IT 😊 😊 scrawled in alternating red and blue crayon. As Garth walked, he stumbled over the toys, just barely catching himself on the nearby railing. “Whoa! Angie! You’re not s’posed to leave your stuff lying around!”

“Shut up, Garth!” a childish voice called from behind the door. Garth exhaled heavily. “Okay…” They traveled down the hall towards another closed door, which sported a far more formidable KEEP OUT sign, adorned with a radioactive symbol.

“Here’s my room,” Garth said as he opened the door. Stepping inside, Wayne fell into an almost instant state of awe. Every inch of Garth’s wall surrounding his bed was plastered with band posters, B-movie posters, and much more. To the right side of the door was a desk complete with a computer and laden with mini figurines, and on the facing wall, a miniature basketball hoop was mounted. On top of Garth’s dresser were more framed family photos. However, the focal point of the room was definitely the item that loomed in the sound-proofed corner across from Garth’s bed.

“Garth,” Wayne said quietly, afraid that this was all just an illusion that would be broken the instant he raised his voice. “Is– is that _your—”_

“My drums?” Garth walked over to the giant, beautiful drum set, as if he didn’t even know what a big deal it was. He sat down on the stool and grinned wanly. “I like to play.”

“Right on! Same here.” Wayne could hardly wrap his mind around it. After all this time, could the drummer for which Neil had been looking have been right under his nose? He gestured to the drum set. “Care to show off your stuff?”

“Oh! Well… I guess.” Garth picked a pair of drumsticks off the floor, while Wayne stood back to watch the show. He tried telling himself not to expect too much. Who knew how long Garth had been playing, or how serious he was about the whole music thing, or what kind of music he preferred…

All of Wayne’s fears evaporated as Garth began to play. He started off with a slow, steady drumbeat that eventually progressed to wild thrashing, his sticks leaping effortlessly from tom to snare. The solo went on for a long time, Wayne standing transfixed as Garth transformed from his usual mild-mannered self to a maniacal drum god.

Eventually the solo came to a frenetic close, with a final crash of cymbals. Wayne shook his head to clear his ringing eardrums. “Wow…” He tried to applaud, or at least force another word out, but suddenly his knees buckled, and the floor loomed towards him.

“Wayne!” Garth leapt from his seat and scrambled over, catching Wayne’s elbow and hauling him up. He led him, dazed, over to the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I think I slipped.” Wayne blinked, trying to get a grip on himself. This guy was _good._ Steadying himself against the mattress, the strange pliability beneath him served as a momentary distraction. “You have a waterbed?!”

“Yeah.” Garth sat down in the chair by the desk, setting his glass of Kool-Aid beside the computer keyboard. Though his body seemed relaxed, his eyes watched Wayne tensely, as if afraid that he was going to collapse again. “It’s comfy and cozy.”

“Excellent.” Wayne looked down at the glass in his hands, grateful that he hadn’t spilled it. He tried to sort out all that he had just learned. Not only did Garth play drums, but he played them like a fricking champ. _And_ he owned his own drum set, too. The next step was blindingly obvious. All he had to do was ask Garth if he wanted to join a heavy metal band. But Wayne couldn’t figure out the right way to phrase it. What if Garth said no?

While Wayne was mulling over his word choice, Garth spoke up. The tension in his eyes was starting to drain away, but he still spoke hesitantly. “Y'know, I haven’t had anyone from class over here before.”

Wayne set his glass down on the floor. “You mean, before this school year?”

Garth shook his head. “No, _before.”_

“Before what?”

_“Before.”_ Looking down, Garth let his bangs fall into his face, covering his eyes.

Wayne’s eyebrows mushed together. _But, you have friends, right?,_ he wanted to say. It seemed impossible that Garth should have gone for so much of his life without ever inviting anyone over. But as Wayne gazed at Garth, his shoulders scrunched up and his shaggy blond hair hiding his face, he had a sneaking suspicion that Garth wasn’t the type of person who made friends easily. His chest tightened with something kind of like guilt, only it was directed more at Garth than himself. _Poor guy…_ He hadn't known Garth for very long, but it was clear the dude deserved better.

Wayne didn’t stop to think before blurting it out. “Would you like to go see _Child’s Play_ this weekend?”

Garth’s neck snapped up, his startled eyes meeting Wayne’s. In seconds, the astonishment gave way to a smile. “I sure would! It looks so scary.” He shivered.

Wayne waited a moment, expecting more, but as Garth continued to beam cluelessly, he wondered if Garth might have misunderstood. “No, I mean…” Wayne tucked his hair behind his ears, tugging at his cap’s brim. “My buddy Neil and I are going to see the movie on Saturday night, and he’s staying over at my house. You can come too if you want.”

Garth’s eyes widened, and his mouth formed the shape of an O. “Really?!”

“Yeah, of course!” Grinning, Wayne picked up his glass and raised it in Garth’s direction. “You’re a bud.” He polished off the Kool-Aid, while Garth began rocking in his seat, looking as if he would explode with happiness. Pride surged through Wayne. _I’ve done it._ Once Neil got to know Garth, he’d surely agree that he was a worthy addition to their band, and in no time, Bloodjun would be up and running. A world of possibilities had just opened up, and Wayne couldn’t wait to dive right in.


	5. Chapter 5

Though it was past 3 AM according to his wristwatch, Garth lay wide awake in a room flooded with light. Beneath the covers of the bed in which he’d been offered to sleep, one hand curled in a vice grip around a hockey stick. He didn’t dare close his eyes for even a second, lest the shadows at the foot of the bed swarm him.

How could such a perfect night have ended up so badly?

Everything had been going well until a couple hours ago. Garth had had to pinch himself all throughout the day to make sure this wasn’t a dream and he really was going to the movies with Wayne and Wayne’s friend Neil that night. He’d been in such a state of anticipation that the homework he’d attempted had been a total washout; he’d be lucky to receive high grades on any of the assignments he’d finished. His mom had seemed kind of nervous, repeating over and over that if he was going to spend the night at Wayne’s, he couldn’t forget to bring a toothbrush and pajamas and his pills and a bunch of other stuff that Garth wasn’t sure he’d actually need, but he managed to assuage her once he’d shown her the overstuffed bag he’d packed. _Besides, if I forget anything I can always walk over and get it..._ The movie wasn’t starting until 7:00, so after tackling his homework Garth spent the next few hours in agony, alternating between playing _Castlevania_ and pounding on his drums to relieve the tension. Finally, after dinner, Garth grabbed his bag and headed across the street to Wayne’s, just in time for Neil to pull up in his mom’s car. Soon the three had piled in and were off to the movies.

Going to the movies hadn’t been the problem, nor had leaving them been. Since all their parents had given them more money than the movie tickets and popcorn actually cost, Wayne announced that they should go somewhere to hang once the movie was over. Neil had suggested Stan Mikita’s Donuts, and Wayne had seconded the motion. Sitting around a table with a box of krullers between them, watching the older kids who frequented Mikita’s and fantasizing about joining them, Garth had never felt closer to Heaven. Tonight he could finally make himself believe that he was “one of the boys,” not the weirdo everyone at school avoided. Even when he said something that didn’t quite come out right, Wayne and Neil never seemed to mind.

Once they’d gotten back to Wayne’s house, Wayne had ushered everyone down to the basement to catch _Headbangers Ball_ on MTV. Garth wasn't much of a night owl, but once he saw what bands were being featured, he was glued to the screen. He burrowed under a blanket on the couch, enjoying the music and the TV screen flickering in the darkness and Neil and Wayne going back and forth, debating which of their favorite bands had the most excellent music video and why. But once the program was over, and Wayne had shown Garth to his brother’s room where he’d be staying the night, the trouble had begun.

What was wrong was that the movie _Child’s Play_ had surpassed Garth’s expectations. It hadn’t just been scary– it'd been _terrifying._ Usually Garth could handle horror movies, because no matter how freaky they got, he knew they weren’t real. Years ago, after he’d accidentally caught a glimpse of a scary movie on TV and ended up cowering in the corner, his father had told him about how the monsters he saw onscreen were really just puppets or men in makeup and suits, and none of the actors _really_ died, because how would they then appear in the coming attractions at the theater? Knowing this made the movies seem more awesome than frightening. But the killer in this movie hadn’t been a guy in a suit. It was a doll, one that could run without batteries and had the ability to wield a knife and push people out windows. And even worse, it looked exactly like one of Angie’s old toys. Garth was suddenly glad that he wasn’t spending the night at home, or else that thing would probably come out of her closet and try to stab him.

At first glance, nothing in Wayne’s brother’s room seemed particularly doll-like. But then Garth had noticed that some of the sports trophies on the shelf directly across from him were shaped like little men. Then he’d heard a weird creaking sound from outside the room, as if someone were walking across the floorboards, even though Garth was pretty sure that everyone in the house had gone to bed already. Though the noises eventually subsided, Garth’s fear didn’t. He’d leapt up to grab a hockey stick and retreated to bed with it. If that little Chucky doll tried to sneak up on him, he’d be ready and waiting to bash it over the head. All he had to do was stay awake… stay awake… _stay awake…_

The next thing Garth knew, pitch darkness surrounded him. “WHOA!” He shook himself to full alertness and sat up, his eyes darting every which way, scanning frantically for any sign of Chucky. Oh god, this was just like in the movie, he was about to be attacked and _murdered…_ “AHHHH! AHHHHHH! AHHH—”

“Garth!” With the flip of a switch, the room grew bright again. In the doorway stood a very startled Mrs. Campbell. “Is something wrong?”

“Ah—” Garth clamped his mouth shut, staring wildly at Wayne’s mother. In his terror, he realized that he had grabbed the hockey stick and was holding it aloft. Slowly he lowered it under the bedcovers, though he didn’t let go of it. He tried to say something, but his scrambled brain wouldn’t force any words out. All he could think of was Chucky’s menacing grin, and how relieved he was that Mrs. Campbell had shown up in time.

“Did something happen?” Mrs. Campbell strode into the room, her brow furrowed worriedly. “I saw that your light was still on, so I went to turn it off… I thought you were asleep.”

“Uh… uh…” Still no words came to Garth. Part of him was glad that Mrs. Campbell had come by to check in on him, but at the same time… how could he tell her what had kept him awake? She’d think it was silly, and she might even tell Wayne, who’d probably make fun of Garth and never invite him to spend the night at his house again.

Attempting to end their interaction as quickly as possible, Garth ended up blurting out exactly what he’d been trying to avoid saying. “I’d like you to leave now, please.”

Mrs. Campbell’s eyes widened, and Garth cringed. _Crap,_ he’d offended her… and now she would never ask him back, and she’d tell Wayne all about what a loser he was and Wayne wouldn’t look at him the same way again…

Then Mrs. Campbell pursed her lips, a thought seemingly occurring. “Was it the movie?”

_Was… what?_ Garth could only stare blankly as Mrs. Campbell’s face hardened. She walked over to the dresser on the opposite side of the room. "It's okay, Garth." Though she addressed him, Garth wasn’t sure if her exasperated mutterings were aimed for his ears or for her own. “Gosh, I knew I shouldn’t have let you boys stay out so late… Seeing a horror movie is fun and all, of course, but when you have to sleep in someone else’s bed afterwards, it’s a recipe for disaster…”

Mrs. Campbell opened a drawer and rummaged through it, still muttering– “where is it, where _is_ it”– before finally emerging with a small object in hand. As she turned around, Garth saw that it was a nightlight, shaped like the planet Saturn. Embarrassment swept over him. He wasn’t a _baby_ anymore. He hadn’t slept with a nightlight since he was at least eight years old. But still… if it took the edge off Garth's fear…

“Here you go,” Mrs. Campbell chirped as she fumbled with the nightlight’s plug. “Would you like me to plug this in for you? Davey and Wayne used to get a lot of mileage out of it.” She winked conspiratorially at Garth. “I doubt he’d be the first to tell you, but sometimes when they stayed up to catch a scary flick, Wayne would end up sleeping on Davey’s floor.”

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Garth couldn’t help but giggle at the mental image. So Wayne wasn’t such a tough guy! Maybe he wouldn’t think Garth was a wimp, though Garth wasn’t exactly eager for Wayne to know what was going on. He watched as Mrs. Campbell knelt down to plug the nightlight in. The planet Saturn began to glow in a warm and friendly fashion.

“There, now. I hope you can get to sleep.” Mrs. Campbell smiled at Garth as she retreated to the bedroom door. “If there’s anything else you need, I’ll be at the end of the hall.”

“Um—” Garth stared wide-eyed as Mrs. Campbell’s hand hovered over the light switch. “...Can you maybe not tell Wayne about this?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Campbell mimed locking her lips with a key. “I won’t tell a soul.” With that, she switched off the light, leaving Garth alone in the darkness. He listened as her footsteps grew softer and softer, his eyes fixed to the beaming Saturn in the corner. Slowly, his muscles began to relax. It _was_ pretty late, and if he didn’t get to sleep soon his whole sleep cycle would be out of whack. But first, just for good measure… Garth jumped out of bed and went over to the shelf full of sports trophies. He swept them all off the shelf and shoved them into the wastebasket at the foot of the bed. _That_ should do the trick.

*

Garth woke to sunlight streaming through flimsy curtains and a toasty warm bed. In the light of day, the Saturn nightlight had faded, but the trophies that Garth had taken off the shelf didn’t seem so intimidating anymore. He peeled back the navy-blue fleece blanket, admiring the sports symbols that adorned it– tennis rackets, baseball bats, basketball hoops. Next to him lay the stolen hockey stick. Apparently he’d snuggled up to it in his sleep, as if it were a toy. _Like_ _a doll…_ Garth shuddered, the memory of Chucky’s haunted plasticine eyes resurfacing. However, now that morning had come, the thought of Chucky no longer struck him senseless.

For a long time Garth lay there, enveloped in sunlight, happily reflecting on the night before. He wondered how long it would take to get used to this feeling of having friends with whom to hang out who wanted him around, and quickly decided he hoped that day would never come. He’d never truly been unhappy with his life, but he hadn’t realized just how much it meant to him to not be alone. No, it was more than that– Garth didn’t mind being alone. What he minded was not being accepted, and Wayne and Neil had both proven over the course of one night that he’d find no trouble there.

A tap came at the door, followed by a squeaky-hinge sound and a whisper. “Hey, Garth! You up?” Garth sat up to spy a blurry, pajama-clad Wayne peering through the crack in the door. He offered a smile as Wayne pushed the door open wider. “You sleep okay?” He hardly waited for Garth to nod before excitedly adding, “My mom’s making pancakes!”

“Excellent!” Garth fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand as Wayne came into the room. Wayne threw back the curtains and inhaled deeply, before bursting into an amazed laugh. “Whoa, get a load! That guy’s dog got off its leash!”

“Is it Girl?” Garth struggled up from the bed and rushed across the floor to the window. When he saw the black-and-white dog running circles around its hapless owner, the air left his lungs. _Whew._ It wasn’t Girl and her master, Garth’s father; just some random dog-walker who was having an unlucky day. _Dad wouldn’t be up this early, anyway._ As the man dove for his dog, only to end up with his face buried in Wayne’s neighbor’s flower beds, Garth had to cover his mouth to keep from guffawing.

“Oh man. Mrs. McCutcheon’s gonna be _pissed.”_ Wayne turned to Garth. “You don’t know Mrs. McCutcheon, do you?”

Garth took a wild guess. He’d never been too familiar with the folks across the street– _otherwise I could’ve met Wayne sooner!–_ but while the name didn’t ring a bell, it conjured up behavior that certainly did. “Is she the one who’s always yelling at us to get off her lawn?”

“Yeah.” Wayne nodded fervently. “She’s got a bug up her ass, I swear. Get this, I was on the way to the bus stop, minding my own business, right? And she comes out of her house and starts getting on me about how I better not get too close to her tulips, or she’ll call the cops! I mean, what’d she think I was gonna do, whizz on them or something?”

“Yeah, really, what’s she got against us?” Garth jumped in. “It’s not like we’re gonna kill someone and bury the body in her yard, and then when she notices the smell we’ll say it must be that new fertilizer you bought, and so she writes a letter telling the fertilizer company to stop selling stuff that smells like old dead guy, and _then_ the fertilizer company goes out of business and it causes a collapse of the whole gardening industry and we get away with the murder and no one finds out what happened to that guy for years and years until one of us confesses on our deathbed and by that point it’s too late to do anything about it anyway, y’know?”

He stopped, because Wayne was giving him a funny look, and not in the _funny ha-ha_ way. He looked as if he wasn’t sure how to politely tell Garth to shut up. Self-consciousness crept up on Garth, as he began to wish he could take back the words that had spilled out of his mouth. Typical Garth Algar, blurting out something stupid without knowing what he was saying…

Then an incessant beeping split the air, diverting all attention. Garth looked down at his wristwatch to read the digits: 8:30. Instantly a new kind of nervousness filled him.

“Uh, Wayne… where’s your bathroom again?”

Though Wayne still seemed taken aback, he managed to reply. “Down the hall and to the left.”

“Okay.” Garth shifted from foot to foot, wanting nothing more than privacy. “Um… I’ll get dressed and meet you downstairs.”

“Okay?” Wayne eyed Garth strangely, but fortunately he didn’t ask any questions. He turned to leave the room. It was only when Garth couldn’t hear Wayne’s footsteps anymore that he dove for his overnight bag and shuffled through it. Change of clothes, change of clothes… ah, there they were, and there was his pill bottle, too. Grabbing his things, Garth headed for the bathroom according to Wayne’s directions. As he walked, the heavenly aroma of pancakes on the griddle surrounded him, wafting from the kitchen downstairs. Garth’s stomach rumbled, but he reminded himself that he couldn’t go downstairs, not yet.

Beside the sink in the bathroom was a roll of small plastic cups, stacked on top of each other and laid upside down. Garth dressed, then filled a cup with water and set it down. He unscrewed the pill bottle’s cap and shook one pill into his hand, noting as he did that he was running low. Oh, well, his mom could always get his prescription refilled at the pharmacy on Monday… He gulped down the pill with the water he'd just collected, then crumpled the cup and stuffed it into his shirt pocket, for potential later use. Only then did he deem it safe to exit the bathroom.

To Garth’s utmost relief, by the time he came downstairs Wayne was no longer giving him mental looks. Slight discomfort welled inside him. _If he finds out that I have to take pills…_ But the morning was too nice for him to start worrying about such things. He sat down in the breakfast nook and helped himself to a heaping stack of pancakes. Neil grinned at him from the across the table, and Garth grinned unsteadily back. He hadn’t gotten to talk to Neil much the night before, since Neil mostly talked to Wayne and Wayne talked enough for the three of them, but Neil had laughed at a few things Garth had said, which meant he was cool in Garth’s book. He grabbed a fork and carefully smeared butter into his pancakes, while Wayne smothered his own stack in enough maple syrup to drown a Canadian.

“So Garth!” Wayne blurted once he’d exhausted the syrup bottle. Having just taken his first bite, Garth found himself indisposed. He tried to swallow, but the food got stuck in his throat, leaving no option but to wheeze, _“Hmm?”_

Wayne leaned forward on his elbows. “I was just telling Neil about how you play the drums.”

“Yeah,” Neil said, nodding. “He says you can really rock out.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Garth tried to say, but it came out sounding more like _“Omphdgunnf.”_ Hastily he choked down his pancake slice. “Oh, I don’t know about _that.”_ The back of his neck grew warm as he looked from face to face, but Wayne and Neil’s smiles didn’t dim.

“Well, it’s true,” Wayne insisted. “Anyway, we’ve been meaning to ask… how’d you like to join a heavy metal band?”

Garth brightened at once. _“Would_ I! That’d be amazing!” He picked up his fork and attacked another pancake slice with gusto, but Wayne stopped him with a chuckle.

“No, no. Garth… Neil and I are in a metal band, and we’re looking for a drummer.”

Garth was immediately grateful that he hadn’t shoved the pancake slice down his throat. He gasped as if he’d had the air punched out of him. “Wh– y– you _w—”_ He felt the adrenaline shooting up inside him, hotwiring every limb. It was all he could do not to jump out of his seat.

“We’re called Bloodjun,” Wayne continued, oblivious to Garth’s sputtering. “We practice every Sunday, except not tomorrow ‘cause Neil’s brother is a total—”

“Hey,” Neil cut in. “That’s my _brother_ you’re talking about.”

Wayne held up his hands in acquiesce. “Actually, if it’s not too much trouble we were wondering if we could move practice to your place from now on, Garth? I know this is sudden but I trust you’ll be able to work it out.”

“Su– su– _sure,”_ Garth stammered. “I’ll ask my—” He never got to mention his mother, because suddenly he was sliding from his chair to the floor, watching Wayne and Neil’s faces turn from electrified to horrified. Garth hit the floor with a _thunk._ “Ow…” But he hardly felt anything, except for the world spinning around him and the explosive sensation in his heart.

“Whoa there!” It was Wayne’s mother who came over and helped Garth to his feet. “Are you okay?”

Garth nodded. “I slipped.” He looked over at Wayne, starting to realize what had been the cause of Wayne’s fainting spell the other day. Wayne must have decided right then and there to ask Garth to be in his band! The idea was overwhelming. Of all the people in the world, Wayne had picked _Garth_ to be his drummer. Surely Garth had died and gone to Heaven. Surely there was no way this whole week was real.

Carefully, Garth pinched the back of his hand. “Ow!” He looked around. Still the same breakfast nook, and the same pancakes, and the same two faces beaming at him like they’d never met someone more rad. Somehow… something must have gone terribly right for Garth in another life. He stabbed his pancake and smiled back at his friends.

“What d’ya say, Garth?” Wayne prompted. Garth took a deep breath. “I’d like to join your band. Thank you.”

“Excellent!” It was Wayne who leapt from his seat, followed by Neil, palms outstretched for a series of high fives. Garth felt like his face would split apart as he reciprocated the gesture. If only the morning could last all day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something very disgusting happens near the end of this chapter. If you're easily grossed out by bodily functions, try skipping to the second part of this chapter (after the asterisk) once you get to the words "nice, refreshing Mountain Dew."
> 
> Also, I don't know anything about hockey, please forgive me for the street hockey scene.

“Wayne!” A cry from downstairs cut through the morning’s lazy fog. “Guess who’s here!”

_Who’s here…!!_ Wayne had been half-asleep, barely registering the sound of footsteps and light chatter on the floor below him, but now he scrambled to full wakefulness. He threw himself out of bed and rushed down the hall to the top of the stairs, where his heart gave an enthusiastic salmon-leap. Down below, Davey was waiting, clad in jeans and a black fleece jacket, a knit cap pulled over his thin dark hair and his arms outstretched.

“Wayne!” The smile on Davey’s face was so bright, Wayne felt he should have worn sunglasses. “How’s my favorite brother?”

“Dav _eyyyyyy!”_ Wayne lunged down the stairs, mercifully managing not to trip over his own feet. He hurled himself at Davey headfirst, but Davey easily caught him in a headlock. Playfully he rubbed his knuckles into Wayne’s skull, mussing up his hair.

“Hey! Not the hair, dude! Don’t mess with the hair!” Not to mention, the headlock _hurt,_ though Wayne wasn’t going to let Davey know that. He’d always been such a skinny guy... No matter how many times Davey proved that the Army had bulked him up, it never really clicked.

Davey smirked as he released Wayne. “Sorry. Just can’t help myself.”

“Hi, Wayne,” a gentle voice piped up. Wayne paused the process of fixing his hair to wave hello. “Hi, Sonya.” His brother’s fiancée was short in stature, but larger than life when it came to her presence in a room. With her wavy dark hair flowing over her shoulders and her brilliant green eyes that missed nothing, she was the kind of chick Wayne imagined with whom he wouldn’t mind settling down himself, provided that marriage turn out to be less torturous than he anticipated.

Mrs. Campbell clasped her hands to her breast, looking overjoyed to have her boys in the same room. “Well! Now that everyone’s here, how about some breakfast? We’ve got eggs, oatmeal, English muffins, and I just cooked some sausage…”

“Cool, all right.” Davey gave Wayne a quick wink. “Breakfast of champions, eh?” Throwing one arm around Sonya’s shoulders and the other around Wayne’s, he herded them off to the breakfast nook.

At the table, Wayne cheerfully munched on the eggs and sausage that his mother had cooked, and listened attentively to his brother’s descriptions of life in the military. He’d heard it all before– the early mornings, the standing at attention, the uniforms. But somehow, whenever Davey talked about it, he was able to capture Wayne’s attention like it was the first time. Though Wayne hoped circumstance would never force him to join the Army like Davey, he couldn’t help but find the stories a little fascinating.

Maybe it was because Davey seemed to have so much already figured out. The loving looks Sonya gave him from across the table spoke for themselves. Davey had been lucky enough to meet Sonya in Florida and decided that she was the one with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. His proposal to her neatly fit into the plan he’d laid out for himself after high school. Wayne had to admit that his admiration carried a touch of envy. If only _he_ could figure out how to balance the obligations that would grant him a long, peaceful life, and his overwhelming desire to say screw it and goof off.

“But enough about _me,”_ Davey said at last, before draining his third straight cup of coffee. “What about you, Wayne? Are you doing well in school? Keeping yourself out of trouble?”

“Not according to his teachers,” Mrs. Campbell said with an eye-roll. Wayne glared at her. “Mom! The reports of my academic failures have been greatly exaggerated!”

“Oh, I know what _that’s_ like,” Sonya commented. “‘I’m sorry I didn’t finish the homework, ma’am- I was up late last night working on my plan to end world hunger!’”

“ _Sheesh,_ don’t all jump on me at once, all right?” Wayne got up from the table. “Anyway, who cares what grades I’ve been getting, when there are far more important matters at hand?”

“Such as?” Davey asked.

A devious grin made its way across Wayne’s face. “What say you to some hockey practice?”

“Already?” Davey tried to laugh off the suggestion, but Wayne could see his eyes sparkling. “It’s a bit early, don’t you think?”

“C’mon.” Wayne raised his chin in the air. “Unless you’re scared I’ll clobber you.”

“As long as you put on some sensible clothes before you go outside,” Mr. Campbell said dryly, his eyes roaming across Wayne’s knitted airplane pajamas.

Davey turned to Sonya with an apologetic smile. “Do you mind if I—”

“Of course not.” Sonya returned the smile as she rose from her seat. “I’ll referee.”

“Okay, all right,” Wayne and Davey breathed together, then in a quick succession of pointing and yelling: “JINX! JINX! JINX!”

In no time, Wayne had pulled his Blackhawks jersey over his ripped jeans and his baseball cap over his head, grabbed two hockey sticks from Davey’s old room, and run out into the crisp morning air. While he’d been getting dressed, Davey had unearthed the net from the backyard shed, while Sonya brought out the balls. Wayne grinned as Davey tossed him the goalie’s mask. This would be a match like no other. With little traffic due to the holiday, they’d be able to play uninterrupted, bringing Wayne closer to victory.

“He’s moving in on the net… he’s getting closer…” Wayne swiped at the incoming ball, sending it flying away from the net. “OH! Campbell is _denied!_ What’s the matter, Married Boy, you forget to eat your Wheaties?”

“You need to get some better insults,” Davey taunted as he ran to retrieve the ball.

“Oh yeah? Well you need some better comebacks!”

Davey just rolled his eyes as he brought the ball back, lining up for a perfect shot. Expertly he delivered the blow, but Wayne blocked it. “Oh! Missed it by _thaaaaat_ much! Looks like the Campbells have a new reigning champion!”

“Are you kidding me?” Davey groaned. “That move sucked donkey.”

“Well… _your_ moves suck buffalo.”

_“Your_ moves suck rhino.”

_“Your_ moves suck—”

“CAR!” Sonya shouted from the stoop. Wayne and Davey looked away from each other to see the car barreling down the street, honking its horn. They each grabbed one end of the net and dragged it to the sidewalk, waiting for the car to pass. Once it was gone, they brought the net back into the street.

“Game on!”

“Game _on!”_

After several arduous rounds, Davey called a time-out. He and Wayne hauled the net back into the yard, before tumbling onto the stoop on either side of Sonya. The sun had risen high in the sky, and Wayne felt sweat clinging to his jersey. Davey took Sonya’s hand as she snuggled up against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“You’re slipping, bro,” Davey teased Wayne. “You used to put up a good fight before you went down. Don’t tell me you’re too focused on your grades.”

Wayne ardently shook his head. “ _Actually,_ I’m in a band now. We just got a new drummer.”

Davey’s eyebrows leapt up, and he exchanged a glance with Sonya. “A band? Well, look at that. Little Wayne’s growing up before our very eyes.”

“We’re called Bloodjun,” Wayne explained. “It’s me and Neil and a guy from the neighborhood, Garth. We practice every weekend. So excuse me if I’m a _little_ out of shape with the hockey.”

“No worries,” Davey said. “I see you’re keeping yourself busy. So tell me…” He and Sonya fixed Wayne with a mutual smug look. “How’s your personal life? Any interests of the romantic persuasion?”

Wayne chuckled and shrugged in an _aw shucks_ manner. “Well, there’s this girl…”

“Knew it!” Sonya grinned.

“Of course,” Davey acknowledged. “There’s always a girl. So… what’s she like…?

Wayne hesitated for a second, reflecting on his interactions with Jan Wheeler. Since the day he’d complimented her on her T-shirt, he hadn’t seen her at her locker. Right before the holiday, he’d waved at her while passing in the hall, and received a smile in exchange, although the more he looked back on it, the less likely it seemed that the smile had been aimed at him. But none of that made for a very interesting story.

“Oh, she’s the best,” Wayne said. “A total rocker. Huge Led Zeppelin fan, I mean huge! She goes to the Gasworks every weekend. They let her in ‘cause she’s tall for her age, and she’s got a fake ID. All the guys there want to sleep with her, but she’s saving herself for one special guy. Her name’s Janet, but she likes to be called Jan. She’s a fox, a total babe. And someday, she will be mine. Oh, yes. She _will_ be mine.”

Sonya lifted her head to run her fingers through her hair. “If you know so much about her, how come you haven’t asked her out?”

The question struck Wayne. He tried not to sputter as he responded. “Oh, well, I don’t wanna be too forward, y’know? Plus I want to focus on the band first.” It was sort of true, though Wayne considered Jan and Bloodjun to be of equal importance. But he balked at the thought of asking her out with nothing to show for himself. Compared to her, he was a nobody– the guy who’d done the morning announcements for spirit week, then faded rapidly into obscurity. He’d make much more of an impact as the frontman for Aurora’s hottest new metal band.

“Bonus,” Davey said. He reached over to tap Wayne’s arm with his knuckles. “If she’s a rocker, she’ll definitely dig your band.”

“Just be careful, okay?” Sonya cautioned. “Some girls get scared off by grand gestures. You don’t want her to feel like she owes you.”

“What?” Wayne plastered on a joking smile, though the comment left him feeling a little out of sorts. “The lady likes to rock. I assure you, there will be no problem.”

“Good work, bro, good work.” Davey rose to his feet, stretching his tired limbs. “I think we should head on inside and see how the cooking’s coming along.”

“I’ll go move the net,” Sonya offered, jumping up from the stoop and running into the yard.

Wayne picked himself up as well, before reaching for the plastic bottle that he’d set down on the stoop at the beginning of their game. He grabbed Davey’s arm as he reached for the doorknob. “Davey, before we go in, can I interest you in a nice, refreshing Mountain Dew?”

Davey’s eyes narrowed, a tight smile on his face. He shook his head. “I’m not falling for that one, Wayne.”

“C’mon!” Wayne shook the bottle temptingly. “I promise it’s not piss.”

Davey’s hand slid from the doorknob. He had a peculiar expression on his face, one that Wayne was afraid meant he saw right through the trick. But he simply gestured to the bottle. “First, I want to see you drink it.”

If Davey had punched Wayne, he couldn’t have taken his breath away any faster. He struggled not to tip his hand as he gazed at the bottle he’d just filled in the bathroom the night before. Gradually he steeled himself to do as his brother requested. Just one tiny sip was all he needed to sell the illusion… Quickly Wayne unscrewed the bottle, raised it to his lips, and did his best not to start retching as his own urine filled his mouth. He choked it down, then raised the bottle with a weak smile. “See? Nice cold Mountain Dew.”

The tight smile on Davey’s face became an expression of full-fledged delight. He slapped Wayne’s shoulder in camaraderie. “Nice try. I just made you drink your own piss, and I didn’t have to do _anything_.” Leaning in, he whispered in Wayne’s ear– _“Gotcha”–_ before snatching the hat from Wayne’s head and wrenching the door open.

“Hey! Give that back!” Wayne took chase, flying through the front door as Davey’s maniacal laughter tumbled over his shoulder. Oh, how he’d missed this.

*

Garth’s eyelids drooped as he stared down at his empty plate for the thousandth-and-one time. Every year, he was able to make himself believe that he enjoyed Thanksgiving, only for this part of the day to remind him of why he didn’t. It all sounded great in theory– a day without school, where his only obligations were to pig out and see his family. Unfortunately, _family_ meant more than just his parents and sister, and _see_ usually translated into “stay at the table and pretend to listen to everyone’s stories until someone admits it’s time for dessert.”

“Now, I thought I’d seen worse back in the Navy,” Grandpa Algar was saying, “but I swear that was the coldest day I have ever lived through! The wind was like a knife! I tell Rose every day, we should have retired to Florida. Or at least _considered_ it.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad this winter,” Garth’s mother said soothingly. “At any rate we’re not getting as much snow.”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that,” protested Aunt Cynthia, her bracelets clacking as she spread her hands. “We’re getting storms all throughout December, mark my words. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Your bones don’t know a blessed thing,” Grandma Algar grumbled. “This year it snowed straight into March!”

Uncle Mark shook his head, rubbing reflexively at his chin. “I’m sure that was last year, Mom.”

“Who cares what year it was?” Cynthia threw up her hands. “All I know is that we’re getting the first snowfall of the year in December.”

“Now, wouldn’t that be the last snowfall?” Garth’s father cut in. “I think you mean it’ll be the first snowfall of the _season.”_

“Oh, snow in December doesn’t count,” Grandpa Algar said. “Hardly snow at all, I’d say. More like slush.”

“So you’d consider it rain?” Garth’s mother asked. Garth wondered how she could entertain this conversation for more than a second.

“No, rain and slush are two different things,” Mark announced. “You don’t get true rain in the winter.”

“I beg to differ!” Grandma Algar said. “Our house sprang a leak back in February. You’re going to tell me that was from the _slush?”_

Mark held up his hands. “I just don’t believe that true rainfall occurs until the spring.”

“Oh, yes,” Cynthia cut in, laying a hand on Mark’s arm. “April showers bring May flowers, that’s what they say!”

Beev Algar’s forehead creased in deep thought. “So when was the first rainfall this year?”

Desperately Garth searched for a way out. Beside him, his sister Angie had laid her head on the table and winked out like a light. Looking at her brought a brief flicker of jealousy. Sure, she could get away with sleeping at the table because everyone still thought of her as the baby of the family, but when _Garth_ tried it… His eyes met his cousin Barry’s across the table. Barry’s face reflected the same misery that Garth was currently experiencing. Slowly, as the rest of the family jabbered on, Barry formed his hand in the shape of a gun. He stuck his finger in his mouth and brought his thumb down, jolting backwards and crossing his eyes. Garth had to bite his tongue to keep from bursting out laughing, but he couldn’t help but pound the table with his fist.

“Barry!” Cynthia broke in, her voice sharp with disdain. “Are you looking to be excused?”

“Uh…” Leaning his elbow on the table, Barry gave his mother a blasé stare. “Yeah. I am.” He pushed his chair away from the table and got up, nodding to Garth. “I heard you got some new games, Garth. You wanna go play for a bit?”

“Sure!” Garth excitedly shot up, without waiting to be excused. Personally he thought it was funny that Barry still had to get permission to do so. Nearly ten years older than Garth, he’d been on the road for the past year with an up-and-coming Chicago band. When he wasn’t on tour, he ran sound at the Riviera Theater and partied with all the rockers who stopped by the city. Yet when he and Garth got together, Barry still found time to hang and play games with him. He was easily the coolest cousin Garth had ever had, and since his mom’s side of the family didn’t often attend Thanksgiving, he also happened to be the cousin Garth saw the most.

Garth picked up his plate and trailed behind Barry into the kitchen. “I got _Super Mario Bros, Legend of Zelda, Castlevania_ …”

“Why don’t you take Angela with you?” Garth’s mother called. “She loves to watch you play.”

Garth shrugged. “Sure.” Amazing how Barry had managed to free three family members from the table, for the price of one. He went back to the dining room and nudged Angie. “Hey, Angie, we’re gonna go play games in my room now.” Angie opened her eyes, a sly smile crossing her face. Garth sighed. She knew _exactly_ what she was doing. He led her into the kitchen.

“Just don’t take too long,” Garth’s dad said, “or you’ll miss out on your mom’s famous rhubarb pie.”

“Not to mention my pecan pie,” Cynthia declared. “A hit at family gatherings since 1969!”

Grandpa Algar stared suspiciously at his daughter-in-law. “I don’t know if I’d call it a _hit.”_

“What?!”

“Yeah,” Barry muttered under his breath. “Don’t worry about missing out, Garth. They’re gonna take a while.” With that, he dumped his plate in the kitchen sink. Garth did the same, before taking Barry and Angie upstairs to his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things in this chapter were directly taken from interviews with [Mike Myers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-DQ7D3tft0Y&t=341s) and [Dana Carvey,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQAkhYCvByk) respectively- the Mountain Dew bit, and the Algar family discussion during Thanksgiving. I wouldn't have thought to include them otherwise.


	7. Chapter 7

Wayne tried not to make a face as the lunch lady scooped a hearty helping of baked beans onto his tray. No matter how much he insisted that school lunches made him want to hurl and his parents were better off making him sandwiches, they never seemed to listen. “Buying lunch is a privilege, Wayne,” his father had said when he’d initially raised opposition. “Not every student is lucky enough to be in your position.” But when Wayne had pointed out that he wasn’t lucky at all for having to eat trash every day, neither of his parents had been particularly pleased.

At least lunch hour was good for socializing. Once he'd loaded up his tray, Wayne headed over to the table where he usually sat with Neil and some other guys. Garth unfortunately did not share the same lunch period, about which Wayne tried not to feel too down. He’d hung out with Garth a few times over winter break, but it hadn’t felt like enough. Hopefully they’d get to talk before English class started.

As Wayne approached the table, he nearly stopped and checked to make sure he was heading to the right spot. Some of the regular guys were there, but an imposter had replaced Neil. Wayne squinted, trying to figure out why the guy looked so familiar. His blond hair was long and messy, just like Neil’s, and he wore the same kind of Motley Crue T-shirt that Neil owned… but it wasn’t Neil’s face staring back at Wayne. His features were more delicate, and his eyes were a darker shade of brown. Puzzlement reigned in them. Apparently he was trying to place Wayne just as Wayne was trying to place him.

Wayne set his tray down. “Hello, who are you?”

“I’m Alan.” The guy’s voice was different too, a little higher in pitch than Neil’s was. He glanced around awkwardly, as if looking for someone. “You’re Wayne Campbell?”

“I sure am.” Wayne took his usual seat and grabbed a plastic fork, determined not to let the absence of Neil bother him. Maybe he’d decided to take an extra day of vacation. It was a perfectly reasonable action. Though that didn’t explain who Alan was and what he thought he was doing there.

As Wayne cut into his gravy-doused turkey, he noticed someone approach the table out of the corner of his eye. Raising his head, he was pleased to discover it was Neil, smile on his face and lunch tray in hand. Wayne forced down the first bite of his turkey. “Neil! Hey, what’s—”

“Neil!” Alan jumped from his seat and held out his fist. Obligingly, Neil bumped his fist against Alan’s, taking no notice of Wayne at the table.

“Hey, man! How was your break?”

_“Excellent,”_ Alan said. “Yours?”

_“Super_ excellent.” Still grinning, Neil sat down at the table, bringing his lunch tray with him. At last, his gaze locked onto Wayne. “Hey Wayne, how’s it going?”

“Oh… just great.” Wayne couldn’t stop staring at Neil and Alan. Was he missing something? “Uh…” He pointed at the space between them. “How do you guys know each other?”

“Oh!” Neil chuckled warmly, looking to Alan. Wayne couldn't have felt more like a third wheel if Neil and Alan had been a couple. “This is Alan Kane, from the A/V club. He’s a videographer in the making.”

“Oh, well…” There was nothing Wayne could think of to say to that. “Okay.” He began to eat again, suddenly relishing the flavorless turkey and the lumpy mashed potatoes. A thousand thoughts whirled through his head. Was he the only one who thought it was kind of strange that Neil had invited Alan to sit at the table without asking anyone if they were okay with it? Really, the guy could’ve been a psycho, and Neil would only have himself to blame if he went mental and tried to start a fight or something.

“Hey, what’d you do over the break?” Neil asked, propping his elbows on the table and dangling his fork in both hands. Wayne waited a moment, hoping to impress a sense of gravitas upon Neil, but Neil didn’t seem to get it. He sighed. “Uh, mostly I hung out at home, right? Most boring break ever. I mean, _sh’yeah,_ I get it, you’re s’posed to spend time with your family and all, but I seem to have been born into a family whose idea of fun is watching nature documentaries.”

Neil looked surprised. “If you were bored, you could’ve called me.”

“Uh…” Wayne was on the verge of mentioning that it hadn’t been _that_ bad, since he’d gone over to Garth’s a few times, but something told him to keep his mouth shut. He hadn’t expected Neil to want to call him. “Well they didn’t drive me totally mental, so it all turned out okay.”

“Man, did I have a great break,” Alan announced, even though no one had asked him. “You’ll never guess what my parents got me for Christmas.”

Wayne jumped in before Neil could. “An air guitar?”

“...No?” Alan seemed startled. “So I’m sitting there under the tree, kinda bummed ‘cause I’ve opened all my presents and they’re all just socks and jeans, y’know? But then Mom goes and hands me this wrapped box, and I open it, and guess what’s inside?” He didn’t wait for anyone to guess. “They got me a Nikon FA, dude!”

Neil’s eyes went wide, and Wayne futilely tried to copy the expression. “No way!”

“Way!” A glazed, reverent expression came across Alan’s face. “It’s insane! Total game changer. Next time you come over, you need to try it out.”

An unpleasant twinge went through Wayne. “Come over?” He tried to laugh so Alan and Neil would think he was joking around, but his words were dead serious. “What, you guys have been hanging out witho—”

“Wayne!” Neil leaned across the table, grabbing Wayne’s arms and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Don’t look now, but Jan Wheeler’s _right behind you.”_

“Really?” Though restrained, Wayne whipped his head around to see if Neil was telling the truth. His heart flipped in his chest. Jan was indeed standing a few feet away, politely smiling as a guy chatted her up. The sight stoked Wayne’s envy. It was only the first day back at school, and already he was missing his chance?

Wayne turned back to Neil and Alan. “D’you dare me to go talk to her?”

“Um—” Alan shrugged. “You can if you want—”

“Aw, c’mon, guys.” Wayne grinned and bobbed his head as he got up from his seat. “Why’d you dare me to go talk to her? That’s a totally pail, bucket thing to do.”

“We didn’t… do _anything_ ,” Neil stated, bewildered.

“Well…” Wayne threw up his hands. “I guess I have to go talk to her, since you dared me and all. Thanks, guys.” He turned around and took a step– only to immediately plow straight into Jan.

“Whoa!” Jan’s lunch tray slammed into Wayne’s chest, her open milk carton tipping over. Wayne jumped back in horror, but it was too late. The milk spilled, splashing onto Wayne’s shirt and soaking the food on Jan’s tray.

“Oh my god!” Jan blurted, before Wayne had a chance to say anything. “I’m so sorry!”

“Hey, it’s all right.” Wayne stared at the milk dripping down the edge of Jan’s tray, then down at his wet clothing. “That shirt was dirty anyway.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to cringe. _Great, now she’ll think I’m a slob._ But Jan didn’t seem to notice. In a quick motion, she set her tray down at Wayne’s table and peeled off her black sweater.

“Here, put this on.” Jan offered the sweater to Wayne. “It’ll cover the stain.”

For a few seconds, Wayne couldn’t speak or even think of anything coherent. Jan’s dress held his entire attention. Patterned in a black and white mosaic, it clasped around Jan’s neck, but had no sleeves of which to speak. It was the type of thing Wayne had only seen on fashion magazine models, not around the school cafeteria.

Then his brain caught up to what Jan had said, and he snapped out of his daze. “Exsqueeze me? A baking powder? That sweater’s not even my size.”

“Are you sure?” Jan said, though she lowered her hand. “It’ll bring out your eyes.”

“Sh’ _yeah,_ right! What’s it gonna bring out, the color of mud?” Wayne wasn’t sure how Jan would take his messing around, but when she laughed, it was music to his ears.

“We should go and get you cleaned up.” Jan pulled her sweater back on, despite Wayne’s silent protests. A little bemused, but mostly enthralled, Wayne followed her over to the restrooms.

“What about your lunch?” he said, indicating the table where Jan had abandoned it. Boy, Wayne would have a story for his friends once he came back!

Jan didn’t seem fazed. “I guess I’ll throw it out. I’m not really hungry, anyway.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be hungry later.” Wayne stopped and turned to look Jan in the eye. She shrugged. “Then that’s a problem for later. C’mon.” She nodded towards the door to the women’s restroom, at which Wayne stared in befuddlement.

“Y’know, if you’re trying to to insult my masculinity you could just say so.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jan fired back. “The girl’s room has a working hand dryer.”

“Oh!” Wayne instantly turned agreeable.. “I see what you’re getting at!” He went to the door, but Jan stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “Wait here. I’ll check to see if anyone’s inside.”

“Okay.” Wayne watched as Jan entered the restroom, dreamily rubbing the spot where she’d touched him. She was back in less than a minute, nodding to Wayne. “Coast is clear. You go in, I’ll keep watch.”

“Excellent.” Wayne hurried in, half from a sense of urgency, and half out of interest. Now this really was something to tell the guys about. All the time they’d spent wondering what the girls’ bathroom looked like, and now Wayne could finally put the rumors to rest. However, to his disappointment he found that the girls’ bathroom was a lot like the guys’ bathroom, except for the pad dispenser and the lack of urinals. _Oh, well._ It was enough to have the honor of stepping inside.

Once Wayne had patted himself down and dried out his shirt, he exited the bathroom to find Jan waiting for him. Meeting his eyes, she smiled, and Wayne swore he felt Cupid’s arrow pierce his heart. Together, they walked back to where Wayne’s friends were waiting.

“Hey, thanks for helping me out,” Wayne said. “I’m sorry I made such a mess.”

“Oh, it was my fault,” Jan said, waving her hand in dismissal. “I should have been looking where I was going.”

“I guess.” Now that the incident was over and done with, it hardly seemed fair to assign blame to what had been an innocent mistake. “Hey, are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

Jan snorted. “With what money?”

Passion surged through Wayne. “You don’t need money!” Returning to the table, he grabbed his tray of barely-touched food and held it aloft. “You can take mine. This stuff’s hurl central, anyway. Incoming, major honkage!”

He expected Jan to melt right then and there and declare that Wayne was the sweetest guy she’d ever met, but instead she gave him a weird look. “Um… I’d better go join my girlfriends.”

_Why did that not work…?_ Disgruntled, Wayne set the tray down. “Wait.” He stepped forward, looking up into Jan’s eyes. “Jan, I have to tell you something.”

Though Jan didn’t speak, her dark eyes implored Wayne to go on. He opened his mouth, prepared to tell her that he thought she was a fox and he’d give anything for a chance to go out with her– but something about the weird look she’d given him held him back. Awkwardly he recalled his status in school. Jan was the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on, and as for himself… how could he possibly interest a babe of that caliber?

Instead of saying the words that were burning a hole through him, Wayne raised his hand in a thumb’s up. “I really like your dress.”

“Oh.” Jan laughed, looking down at herself. “You want it? You can have it. If I hadn’t brought this sweater to school they would have sent me home to change.”

“Nah,” Wayne said. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t suit my figure.” Jan cracked up again, shaking her head fondly. “See you around, Wayne Campbell.” She turned and headed over to where her friends were waiting, while Wayne walked back to his seat with a spring in his step. _Or is that “shwing?”_ Not even seeing Alan at the table could bring him down.

*

_“She takes me away to that special place, and if I stare too long, I’d probably break down and cry!”_ Wayne pulled the microphone closer to his mouth, trying out his best metal scream. “ _Whoa, sweet Jan of mine!”_ The scream didn’t exactly work out the way he’d intended– it just sounded like a deeper version of his regular voice- but that was all right since he was still practicing. Wayne frenetically strummed his guitar’s strings, trying to mimic the rhythm of Guns ‘n’ Roses’ best work. _“Whoa, sweet Jan of mine!”_

“Okay, c’mon,” Neil said from somewhere behind Wayne, having given up on playing along several bars ago. “That’s enough. We need to work on our own stuff.”

“Okay. Just lemme have one more.” Wayne turned to Garth with a knowing look, signaling for Garth to raise his drumsticks in the air. He began to strum a light, bouncy chord progression, and Garth kept pace. _“Sweet Jan of mine…”_

“Ba-ba-ba!” Garth shouted.

“ _Good times never seemed so good!”_

“So good! So good! So good!”

“Okay, all right!” Wayne grinned, giving Garth an approving thumb’s up. “We sound great!” Great enough to make Neil Diamond bearable, even.

A perplexed look overwhelmed Garth’s face. “How do you know she’s sweet? Have you made out with her or something?”

“Garth, a girl like Jan does not loudly proclaim her sweetness,” Wayne intoned. “Rather, it can easily be inferred through her actions, such as smiling—” To demonstrate, he exaggerated his own smile– “standing close to you, or lending you her favorite sweater.” Memories of his Monday run-in with Jan filled his head, and the smile on his face turned gooey. Jan _was_ sweet, as sweet as honey, and Wayne felt blessed to have interacted with her so meaningfully.

“Oh, man!” Garth started to vibrate on his drum stool, a sight to which Wayne was growing warmly familiar. “She sounds like a babe!”

“She is, my friend.” Wayne pressed one hand over his heart. “She is.” He looked over to where Neil was sitting, fiddling with his bass strings and blowing air from his cheeks. It appeared that he’d completely checked himself out of the conversation. Wayne tried not to frown, since he knew full well that he was wasting rehearsal time, but all the same… It hurt a little bit that Neil wasn’t participating in their usual banter. Then again, he had shown up late to Garth’s place, so maybe he just wanted to get a move on.

“All right!” Wayne grabbed the microphone and adjusted the strap on his guitar. “Let’s take ‘Parasite’ from the top again! Garth, will you do the honors!”

“I’d be _honored!”_ For a moment Garth visibly fought to keep from laughing, and Wayne did the same. He calmed down as Garth positioned his hands over the drums. “One, two, three, four!”

They took off, Wayne thrashing out what he figured was a pretty sick riff while Garth pounded away and Neil’s bass ran fleetly underneath it all. “Parasite” was a song that Neil had brought to the table, featuring some really bitchin’ lyrics. Until Garth had joined the band, it hadn’t seemed like they’d be able to pull it off, but now Wayne was beginning to think they might.

_“I’m bending over backwards, trying to kiss your feet,”_ Wayne sang. _“I’m on my knees before you, like a dog begging for a treat.”_ The key to fronting a metal band, he’d realized, was that he didn’t need to hit every note right-on. _Leave that to the opera singers._ If the raw emotion was there, Wayne was sure the audience would respond… even though Bloodjun had never been blessed with an audience. If they ever got one, though, Wayne guaranteed they’d love it.

_“Your actions turn my stomach. Your behavior makes me sick.”_ God, it was amazing how all these lyrics had just come straight out of Neil’s brain. If Wayne thought about it too much, a hint of jealousy rose. He’d been working on some of his own songs for months and they still didn’t sound anything close to this. That, he figured, was why Neil was Bloodjun’s secret weapon.

The flimsy garage walls shuddered, each rumble of Neil’s bass sending another piece of gardening equipment closer to the edge of the shelf. Wayne felt like jumping in the air as the song reached his favorite part, the two-bar vamp before the chorus. He dug in, viciously attacking his guitar. _“You’re a parasite, you drain my—”_ Wait. That didn’t sound quite right.

“Hold it!” The bass abruptly stopped as Neil made a _cut it out_ signal with his hands in the air. Garth’s drumbeat faded into nothingness. “Wayne! It’s two bars!”

“Are you mental?” Wayne protested. “That’s what I played!”

“No, you played one and one-half. You’re rushing, dude.” Neil began to plunk out the notes on his bass. “See? _One-two-three-four one-two-three, you’re a parasite…”_

Wayne cocked his head, his brow furrowed. _But that IS what I played._ He decided not to argue, though. “Okay, one-two-three-four, _you’re a--”_

“No.” Neil firmly shook his head. “One-two-three-four, one-two-three. Pick up on the four going into the chorus.”

Wayne stared, uncomfortable with how easily Neil had taken control. It wasn’t like writing this song had suddenly made him the band’s leader. “Just chill out, all right? I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay.” Neil nodded. “One-two-three-four, one-two— _Wayne!”_

Wayne’s fingers slid from the guitar’s strings, abruptly cutting off a loud electric caterwaul. “What? I counted in!”

“Whatever.” Neil pushed his hair back from his eyes, a distinct lack of amusement shining in them. His expression unnerved Wayne, though Wayne couldn’t explain why. “Just listen to Garth’s part, he’ll tell you when to come in.”

For a reason on which Wayne couldn’t put a finger, the command rubbed him the wrong way. Heated, he replied, “Hey, I used to _play_ Garth’s part, remember?”

“Yeah, but _I_ wrote the song,” Neil shot back. “So if I want you to play something, you better play it right.”

As soon as the words were out of Neil’s mouth, Wayne felt his stomach twist. He honestly had no idea how to respond. Neil had never spoken to him in such a way before.

“Um…” Garth piped up from behind the drums. “Maybe we could move on to something else?” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and smiled uneasily as both Wayne and Neil turned their heads to look at him.

“Forget it,” Neil said. “We’ve barely gotten through the first half of this song. We need to work on it until we get it right.”

“Actually, I’m all in favor of moving along,” Wayne said quickly. Anything to break the tension, anything that wouldn’t result in Neil biting his head off. “Garth, let’s do your song, okay?”

“Okay!” Garth nodded, and relief poured into Wayne. “But, uh, it’s not really finished or nothing.”

“Aw, what are you talking about, it’s great!” Wayne aimed for an encouraging smile, which seemed to settle Garth’s nerves. He got up from behind the drums and approached the microphone, while Wayne moved to take Garth’s place.

“Hold on,” Neil said, giving Garth a funny look. “I thought Wayne was singing this one.”

“Well, it’s Garth’s song,” Wayne explained. “So I figured I’d take over on drums.”

“But– but who’s gonna play guitar?” Garth said, as if the problem had just occurred to him. Try as he might to control it, Wayne felt his frustration rise. It was bad enough that Neil kept getting on his case, but did Garth really have to nitpick too?

“Yeah,” Neil said, turning pointedly to Wayne, “who’s gonna play guitar?”

“ _Sheesh_ , man, ix-nay on the ostility-hay!” Wayne blurted. He held his hands up, palms out and drumsticks clasped between his fingers. “It’s just for one song, all right? We can come back to it if it doesn’t work out.”

The plea worked, and practice quickly resumed. _Thank goodness._ Had some kind of bad mojo taken over this rehearsal? Wayne couldn’t remember ever getting into so many scuffles with Neil. Usually he could defuse an argument with a smile and a hasty apology, but somehow that wasn’t cutting it today. Playing along to Garth’s song helped thaw the chilly atmosphere, but a frightening sense of _weirdness_ still permeated the garage.

“ _Come inside my pain cave, and I’ll bludgeon you,”_ Garth sang. Instead of rocking out like Wayne did behind the microphone, he stood very still, his hands in his pockets and his hair falling into his eyes. _“You don’t have to scream, because your ears are bleeding…”_

With Neil’s bass the only remotely melodic instrument, the song sounded strange and sparse. That left it up to Wayne to make it more interesting. He tried a few fills, but they were hard to accomplish without getting off-tempo. Hearing Wayne stumble on the drums, Garth started speeding up, and Wayne tried valiantly to match the new tempo. To his credit, he didn’t screw up _too_ badly, but he did catch a few confused glances from Neil.

“ _Come into my pretty, pretty pain cave!”_ Garth’s mouth was so close to the microphone that Wayne was afraid that it would start feeding back, but fortunately the bass was loud enough to drown it out. They ended the song with what Wayne hoped was a dramatic finish, considering he’d been off-beat for half the song.

“Nice! Good work, Garth!” Wayne held up his hand for a high-five. It took Garth a moment to turn around and notice, but when he did, he scurried over and lightly pressed his palm against Wayne’s. “Thank you.”

“All right!” Wayne got up and allowed Garth to return to his seat. “That’s ‘Pain Cave’ out of the way, so how about we work on one of mine?”

“I don’t know, Wayne,” Neil spoke up, dissatisfaction evident in his voice. “I think we need more practice.”

Wayne tucked his hair behind his ears. “Well, maybe we can all start a little earlier, okay?” He didn’t intend for it to sound like a dig, but once the words slipped out, he realized uncomfortably how it could be taken. Neil just looked at him.

“No, I mean… we need to practice more often.” He stood up, lifting his bass guitar’s strap over his neck. “Any night over the week.”

Though the last thing Wayne wanted was a fight, he couldn’t stop himself from scoffing. “Sh’yeah, right! It’s not like Garth’s garage is open 24/7!”

“As if!” Garth supported.

Neil exhaled as he stooped down to open his instrument case. “I just think… well… if we’re gonna do this, we've gotta be serious about it.”

“But I _am_ serious,” Wayne insisted, Garth nodding right alongside him. “Serious as a heart attack. Serious as a gravedigger at a funeral.”

All Wayne got from Neil was a half-hearted “Okay, man.” He watched as Neil packed up his bass and got to his feet. He checked his wrist, though Wayne was pretty sure he wasn’t wearing a watch. “Well, the momster wants me to pick up a few things at Wishing Well Convenience, so I guess I’ll be on my way. See you tomorrow, Wayne.”

Wayne stared blankly. _What? First he shows up late, and now he’s leaving early?_ This just wasn’t _like_ Neil. Had Wayne done something wrong?

“Hey, wait a minute!” he said as Neil pressed the button to open the garage door. Neil didn’t turn around, forcing Wayne to take chase. “Neil... buddy…”

“Tell my dad you’re my friend,” Garth called obliviously as Wayne sailed out of the garage, “and he might give you 20% off!”

Outside, the late afternoon was transitioning into evening, the sun’s gradual disappearance sapping warmth from the air. In his haste to catch up with Neil, Wayne hardly noticed. He dashed after his friend as he made straight for his car. “Neil! Wait.”

Finally Neil turned around. Wayne wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find from him, but the guarded expression he wore sparked a certain amount of dread. Swallowing hard, Wayne chose his words carefully, his voice softening.

“I’m sorry things got tense today.” Wayne sighed. “I just want us to get really good right away, y’know? So I have something to show for myself.”

“Show for yourself?” Wayne couldn’t figure out how Neil was regarding him. It couldn’t be– was that a trace of _pity_ in his voice?

“You’re Wayne Campbell,” Neil said, with what might have once been a genuine chuckle. “What more do you need?”

Something about Neil’s tone momentarily stunned Wayne. He took a moment to piece himself back together, trying not to let on that he’d been knocked flat. “Well thank you, Neil, but I wouldn’t fall for that line. Not if I were Jan Wheeler. I mean—” Wayne shrugged. “Who’d want to go out with a rock star who hasn’t even written a full song yet?”

Now the pity in Neil’s voice had reached his eyes, though Wayne realized that it wasn’t really pity– more like a sense of wistfulness, of what was and what never could be. “I dunno, man.” Languidly, he reached out for a fist bump. “I’ll see you around.”

Mechanically, Wayne returned the fist bump. “Yeah, see ya.” He stayed where he was, watching as Neil got into his car and pulled out of the driveway. Slowly it picked up speed, until Wayne couldn’t see it anymore. Staring at the space where the car had been, a sort of heaviness settled in Wayne’s chest, as if the look in Neil’s eyes was contagious. Then he shook himself, forcing the heaviness away. Garth was still waiting in the garage, oblivious to all that had gone on outside. Maybe, if Wayne was lucky, he’d want to go play one of his video games with him, or catch a show before it was time for Wayne to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of certain cultural references, I imagine most of the later Wayne's World sketches from SNL take place in the year that they first aired. However, the earlier sketches didn't make that distinction, so while the first Wayne's World sketches aired early in 1989, in my head, Wayne and Garth didn't start the show until later that year. 
> 
> As with hockey, I know nothing about cameras, please don't kill me.
> 
> I'm outright convinced that I stole the bit with Wayne complaining about being dared to do something from some other comedy show or movie (possibly something on SNL?), but I can't figure out what it might be from. If you have an idea, please enlighten me.
> 
> "Parasite" is an original by yours truly. And if you haven't heard [ "Pain Cave,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5oAIh8BpGec) please do so now.


	8. Chapter 8

Garth happily chugged his root beer, captivated by the images on Wayne’s TV screen, while Wayne hummed discordantly in the easy chair beside him. It had taken a month of band practice at Garth’s house, but finally Garth’s mother had agreed to let Garth hang out with Wayne on school nights– “as long as you finish your homework first,” she’d specified. Once it turned out that Wayne’s worst subject was Garth’s best and vice versa, she’d been even more agreeable, in the hopes that they could tutor each other. At first they’d actually made a weak attempt, but excuses soon flew out the window. Nowadays they ended up in Wayne’s basement more often than not, munching on a hidden stash of junk food and rotting their brains with cable programs. Garth couldn’t imagine being more content. With the rest of the world tucked away from view, it was enough to forget about the things that troubled Garth– such as Bloodjun’s recent strained rehearsals.

Though Garth’s father often teased him for being… what was the term? Slow on the intake? Garth had never quite understood that phrase, just like the many other things in the world that he didn’t understand. But even he could tell that band practice had not been harmonious lately. Wayne had been a lot grouchier than usual, and Neil's once-friendly remarks now sounded more like potshots. Mostly they argued over Wayne rushing through the songs, or Neil showing up late only to spend way too much time on small sections that didn’t matter. It was something Garth tried not to think about too much, because he usually ended up feeling like he was being sucked into a black hole. He only wanted his friends to like each other again, and it killed him to think that there was nothing he could do to make that happen.

What he could do, however, was be there for his friends– mainly for Wayne, since he didn’t see much of Neil outside of band practice and the occasional sighting in the hall at school. Frankly, Garth wasn’t complaining. Wayne and Neil were both really cool guys, but it was Wayne who had saved his ass in Mr. Atlee’s class, Wayne who had invited him to the movies and then to join Bloodjun. Wayne had become a true friend, and as someone who’d never had such a thing, Garth couldn’t ask for more.

Wayne sighed and set his guitar in the holder by his chair. “You know, Garth, writing love songs is not for the faint of heart.” There was an educational tone in his voice, one that Garth had come to learn Wayne only used when he wanted someone to listen closely to him. Garth didn’t always need the lecture, but he still humored Wayne, hanging on every word.

“I mean—” Wayne spread his hands. “What can I say about Jan that hasn’t already been said more eloquently by Aerosmith?” He broke out into song, strumming an air guitar. _“Bay-ay-by, you’re my angel! Come and save me tonight.”_

_“You’re my angel!”_ Garth joined in, drumming on his knees. _“Come and make it all right…”_

_“You’re the reason I live!”_ Wayne dropped to the floor on one knee and enthusiastically belted the lyrics, holding an invisible microphone to his mouth. _“You’re the reason I die! You’re the reason I give when I break down and cry…”_ Slowly he relaxed his stance. “Man, those lyrics are amazing!”

“No guff!” Garth agreed.

“Sh’yeah!” Wayne got up and returned to his seat. “So you see, Garth, I’d be lucky to write something half as good. They’re gods, man!”

Garth thought for a moment. It was true that between himself, Wayne, and Neil, Wayne seemed to have the most trouble thinking up lyrics. Neil had brought in several fully-formed compositions, so perfectly thorough that it was hard to believe he’d written them all on his own. Garth, on the other hand, wasn’t much of a lyricist, but when he’d put chords to the melody in his head, it almost sounded like a real song. As for Wayne, though, he’d only ever displayed half-finished fragments– a riff here, a snatch of melody there. It surprised Garth to hear Wayne put himself down in comparison to Aerosmith. Of course, no one was worthy to even attempt to match their greatness, but Garth wasn’t sure that mattered. Wayne didn’t need to be like Aerosmith– he needed to be like _Wayne._

Garth wanted to tell Wayne his thoughts, but he knew they’d get tangled up leaving his mouth, as they so frequently did. Instead, he tried to offer advice. “Hey, what’s on MTV? Maybe they’ll play something that’ll inspire you.”

_“Excellent_ thought.” Wayne reached for the remote and changed channels. Onscreen, Jennifer Beals shimmied and twisted her way across a dance studio, to the exuberant joy of a pounding track.

“Oh!” Garth cried. “‘What A Feeling!’” For the hundredth time, he wished his parents had let him see _Flashdance_ when it came out.

“She sure gives _me_ a feeling.” Wayne raised his crotch in the air. “Shwing!”

“...What?”

“Well, you know.” Wayne coughed. “It’s when you see a hot chick and you just… uh… you know. _Shwing!”_ Again he raised his crotch.

“Ohhhh,” Garth said, cluing in. “ _Major_ tentpole action!” He copied Wayne’s movement. “Sha- _wing!”_

Wayne chuckled. “Good work, my friend, you’re getting it.” He turned his rapturous attention back to the screen. “God, she’s gotta be one of the top ten babes of all time. She can _move!_ ” He growled, swiping at the air as if he had claws.

The words _top ten_ caught Garth’s ear. He figured the statement was innocuous, but maybe… Casually he side-eyed Wayne. “You have a list?”

“What?”

“A list.” Garth leaned forward, closer to Wayne. “Top ten babes of all time.”

“Well… yeah,” Wayne said, although he sounded like the thought had never occurred to him. “Do you?”

In response, Garth reached down and unzipped the backpack lying at his feet. He rifled through all his junk before unearthing his English notebook, the one he used the least. In the very back, following pages of notes on metaphors and active voice and poetic devices, were the notes he’d started compiling for fun. Garth flipped to a random page and held the notebook open to show Wayne. Wayne squinted in the dim light, trying to make out Garth’s handwriting.

“Top Ten Babes of All Time. Whoa. There it is.” He reached for the notebook, and Garth let him take it. Wayne silently read through the list, occasionally offering a laugh or an emphatic nod, before flipping through the rest of the pages. With each list, he exhaled slowly, impressed.

“Top Ten Scariest Movies. Top Ten Best Metal Screams. Top Ten Things About Aurora High…” Wayne set the notebook in his lap and eyed Garth. “Garth, this is great! Next time they do spirit week, you should _definitely_ do the morning announcements.”

“Thank you,” said Garth, taken aback. He found himself grinning, a frequent action when he wasn’t sure how to react. “I’m just fine the way I am.”

“No, seriously.” Wayne handed the notebook back to Garth. “Where were you back in October? Neil and I could’ve used you.” He reached down to grab a handful of cheese balls from the wrinkled, half-empty bag at his feet. Garth sat quietly, lost for meaningful words. He wanted to remind Wayne that he hadn’t missed out, since they were now in a band together, but bringing up the band didn’t seem like a smart move.

As Wayne munched, a faraway look came to his eye. Garth thought he might be daydreaming about babes, since onscreen Olivia Newton-John was singing about getting physical, but the words that eventually came from Wayne’s mouth were unexpected.

“Garth, do you ever feel like…” Wayne paused, drumming his fingers against his chin. “Well, say you got this spoon. You’ve had this spoon for a long time, right? And you use it to eat breakfast every day. Nothing could be more perfect than this spoon! Until one day, what d’you find? Another spoon. And it’s not like this spoon is _better_ than the first one, but it’s _new_ so you start using it more often, and you start feeling like maybe you like this spoon a little more. But then you see the original spoon back in the spoon drawer, and it’s just chilling in there with all its spoon buddies, and get this. It looks better in the drawer than it ever did when you were using it! And even though you’re using the new spoon, you start feeling bad because it’s like, you didn’t even _matter_ to the spoon. You could go through a million spoons and that spoon wouldn’t even notice!” Wayne paused, staring urgently at Garth. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

It took Garth a moment to figure out Wayne’s intent, but he thought he grasped it. “Yeah! It’s like when your favorite band releases a new album and you can’t stop listening to it, but that doesn’t mean all their other albums are bad, it just means you like this one _more!”_

Wayne blinked. “Exactly!” He reached down for another handful of cheese balls. “So… what d’you do when that happens?”

“What, the spoons or the album?”

“Whichever.” Wayne popped the cheese balls into his mouth.

Garth pondered the query silently for a bit before responding. “Well, it’s just a spoon. It’s not gonna explode or nothing if you don’t use it.” He shrugged. “It’ll still be there when you need it.”

He hoped he’d said the right thing, but Wayne was quiet. Slowly, Garth began to wonder if he’d misunderstood the entire situation. Maybe Wayne was really asking for personal advice.

“Wayne, I’m not an idiot,” Garth said evenly. “I know you aren’t really talking about spoons.”

Wayne whipped his head towards Garth. “No?”

“Yes.” Garth nodded, a small smile spreading over his face. “I get it now. Jan’s the spoon, isn’t she?”

A strange look struggled across Wayne’s face, but all he said was, “Yeah, sure.” Looking away from Garth, his eyes popped as he finally noticed the video onscreen. “Whoa, get a load! We had to sit through two minutes of jiggling man bellies to get to the good stuff? I’d get physical with _her.”_

Garth snickered and reached for his root beer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized that something was troubling Wayne in the same way that band practice troubled him. But if Wayne didn’t want to talk about it, that was fine. Sitting in the basement shooting the breeze, Garth wondered why Wayne would ever think he needed to be good at anything more than being his best friend.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 1/12/21: A few lines in this chapter have been changed, so to any re-readers, don't worry- you're not "going mental."

It was an early school day in March when Wayne turned from his locker to see Jan unrolling a flyer on the other side of the hall. He drank in the sight of her hands smoothing it out, of her breaking off a piece of tape and sticking it to the flyer’s corner, before walking over to see what was going on.

“Hey.” Wayne leaned against the locker in what he thought was a casual move, the way he’d seen some of the cool guys do at school. Unfortunately, he’d misjudged how to brace himself and ended up slamming his shoulder into the cold metal. It was all he could do not to wince, but it did get Jan’s attention.

“Hey.” She smiled through painted, cherry red lips. “What’s up?”

Wayne nodded to the flyer that Jan had taped up. “What’s that?”

“Advertising!” Jan bent down to retrieve a stack of flyers from her backpack. “Auditions for the talent show are next week. The school board asked me to be on the judging committee so I’m helping put up posters.”

Wayne blinked. “Oh, no way.”

“Way.” Jan flicked through the flyers, determining how many she had before handing one to Wayne. “Tell all your friends. We’re trying to get more people to sign up this go-around. It’s always the same bunch of guys doing a juggling act, and a new breakdancing troupe every year.”

Wayne stared down at the flyer, his mind churning into overdrive. _Could it be…?_ Here was a golden opportunity, passed to him from Jan’s loving hands. He nodded, determined to play it cool. “Y’know, I’m in a band.”

“That’s perfect,” Jan said. “If you want to sign them up, the sheet’s posted outside the chorus room. We’re holding general auditions on Thursday afternoon, and musical auditions on Friday.”

_“Excellent.”_ Wayne folded up the flyer, his pulse beginning to race excitedly. This was it! If Bloodjun secured a spot in the talent show, Wayne could prove to Jan that he was someone worth falling for. There was no way she could say no once she saw what his band was made of.

“Well, I’ll be sure to do that. Thanks, Jan.”

“No problem.” Jan tore off another piece of tape and stuck it to the flyer’s edge. “Looking forward to hearing you play!”

Wayne felt like melting against the locker. “B-b-b... b-b- bonus!” he stammered, limply offering a thumb’s up. It was all he could do not to turn and race full speed to the chorus room. At last, his time had come. The judging committee wouldn’t know what had hit them.

*

“Hey, Wayne,” Alan greeted Wayne as he sat down at the lunch table. “Did you hear about the talent show?”

“Hey, Alan,” Wayne muttered. Ever since the first day of school back in January, Alan had become a permanent fixture at the lunch table, much to Wayne’s disappointment. He only seemed to be there because he was friends with Neil, which Wayne just couldn’t figure out. Sure, he understood that they were both in the A/V club, but that was no reason for them to be as tight as they were. And what was worse was that Neil didn’t seem to get why Wayne would have a problem with that.

“I heard about the talent show,” Neil said, as if he were the one who’d been asked instead of Wayne. Wayne coughed to try to bring the attention back to him, but no one seemed to notice.

“All right,” Alan said, nodding. “Mr. Eberman picked Terry and me to be on the video crew. If you want, I can ask if they need someone to help run sound.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Wayne jumped in. He reached across the table and slapped Neil’s shoulder. “I signed us up to perform with Bloodjun.”

He was crestfallen, but not surprised when Neil’s face fell. “You signed us up without asking me or Garth?”

“Hey, I was gonna tell you at lunch. Which I just did.” Wayne looked around. “I’m gonna tell Garth after school today.”

“Um…” Neil looked to be on the verge of laughter, but it wasn’t the close, buddy-buddy kind of laughter that he and Wayne had so frequently shared in the past. “Do you think we’re ready, man? I mean… not to be a downer, but these last few practices haven’t exactly been…” He pulled a _yikes_ face, igniting Wayne’s annoyance. Band practice hadn’t been going well lately, that was for sure, but did Neil need to bring that up in front of everyone? Not to mention, _he_ was the one who hadn’t been making it easy.

“Hey, c’mon! We’ve got time to turn things around. The audition isn’t until next Friday.” Wayne pulled out the flyer that Jan had given him and handed it over to Neil. “We only get one song. We can get that done on Sunday, easy!”

Neil studied the flyer, deep in thought. At first, Wayne was afraid that he’d refuse, but finally he met Wayne’s eyes, nodding. “Okay. But since it’s only one song… I think we should do ‘Parasite.’”

“Whatever.” Wayne saluted. “Your wish is my command, good sir.” If it would mend the rift between himself and Neil, he was all for it. Neil smiled- the first genuine smile Wayne had seen from him in a long time. He smiled back, more eager than ever for next Friday. Show off his band, repair his friendship, and get the girl… There was no way the odds weren’t stacked in Wayne’s favor.

*

Musical auditions for the talent show took place in Aurora High School’s auditorium, on the same stage where each band would be performing were they to make the cut. The school provided a drum set and a piano, but otherwise students had to bring their own instruments. This meant Wayne had to lug his guitar case from class to class, but he didn’t mind, so focused was he on the end result. Normally he was one to fall asleep in class, but the adrenaline kept him wide awake, nearly squirming in his seat. When the final bell of the day rang and Wayne was free to head to the auditorium with Garth by his side, he’d never felt more ecstatic.

Neil was sitting in the back of the auditorium by the time Wayne and Garth arrived, running through scales on his bass. While Garth went to sit beside him, Wayne hung back to scope out the competition. There was a trio of girls in the corner, running through harmonies as if they were auditioning for Phil Spector. They sounded great, but Wayne doubted they’d give Bloodjun a run for their money. The other two groups were more likely to be the ones to watch out for– a bunch of stoner kids goofing off near the control booth at the end of the auditorium, and by the edge of the stage, a serious group of headbangers dressed all in black who looked as if they’d never gotten a haircut in their lives.

“Hey, Wayne!” Wayne jumped in surprise to hear the loveliest voice of all coming from behind him. He turned, grinning wholeheartedly as Jan walked down the aisle. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a knockout pair of black leather thigh-high boots. It made Wayne wonder if she’d dressed up intentionally for the judging process.

“Hi, Jan.” Wayne stepped aside, indicating his friends. “These are my bandmates, Neil and Garth.”

“Hi, Jan,” Neil said, raising a hand in greeting. Garth just smiled shyly, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Hey, guys.” Jan gave the boys a polite nod, but it seemed her attention lay elsewhere. Once she turned back to Wayne, her focus was obvious. A tremor went through Wayne. _Score!_

“You guys are the last band to arrive, so you’re going on last,” Jan said. “Just sit here until I come up to collect you. Break a leg!” She retreated, heading down to where the judge’s table was set up.

“Thanks!” Wayne called behind her back. “You too!” Immediately he felt like biting his tongue. From the row behind him, he heard Garth chuckling.

“ _That_ was Jan?” Garth said as Wayne sat down beside him. “What a babe!”

“I told you!” Wayne tapped Garth’s shoulder with his fist. He watched reverently as Jan approached the female trio and led them to the foot of the stage. Nerves began to crowd the pit of his stomach, but he tried his best to ignore them. Bloodjun was going to be amazing, he could feel it.

The first three acts passed by quickly. The three girls were actually pretty good, with tight harmonies and neat choreography, although the song they chose was too bubblegum for Wayne’s liking. The stoner band played well, but they’d made a mistake of choosing a slow song, which didn’t exactly pump up the judges. Finally, the metal band rocked the stage, flipping Wayne inside out and putting him back together again. The drumming was complex, the bass and guitar were steady, and the vocalist pulled off an insane scream. Somehow, though, the obvious display of talent didn’t bother Wayne, because he knew Bloodjun was going to blow them out of the water.

“Thank you, Tonnage!” the teacher in charge, Mrs. Harrison, called while the band packed up their stuff and Jan left her seat at the judge’s table. “Next up, Blood-Jun.”

“It’s _Bludgeon,”_ Neil corrected, already out of his seat and heading down the aisle. Wayne and Garth followed suit. As they passed Jan, she grinned and gave a thumb’s up, causing Wayne to put on an extra burst of speed. Any moment now, they’d be onstage…!

“Wayne!” A tug at Wayne’s shirt held Wayne back from ascending. He turned to find Garth staring gobsmacked at the stage before him, his eyes glassy.

“What is it, Garth?”

“Um– uhhh…” It was an apparent struggle to get the words out, but finally Garth managed it. “I’ve never played onstage before.”

“Garth!” Wayne took his friend by the shoulders. “Listen to me! You’re gonna do great. You could play this song with your eyes closed!”

Garth remained frozen like a fish out of water. “I, uh… I don’t know…”

“Come on!” Throwing his arm around Garth, Wayne ushered him to the stage. “Just imagine all the judges are naked, okay?”

“Ewww,” Garth shuddered, but fortunately the suggestion seemed to break the spell that the stage had cast over him. Together he and Wayne went up to face the tiny audience. Wayne plugged his guitar into the provided amp and adjusted the microphone, before tapping on it. Slight feedback resonated through the room.

“Um, hi.” Wayne faced the panel of judges– the chorus teacher, Mrs. Harrison; Stan, the class president; and Jan, who Wayne wasn’t quite sure how she had made it onto the committee but hey, he wasn’t complaining. He cleared his throat. “We’re called Bloodjun, and this is our song ‘Parasite.’ Okay, all right.” Without looking behind him, he pointed to where Garth had established himself on drums. “Garth, you know what to do!”

“Okay!” Garth yelled. “One, two, one two three four!” With that, Bloodjun were off and running.

_“I’m bending over backwards, trying to kiss your feet. I’m on my knees before you, like a dog begging for a treat.”_ So far, so good. Wayne lifted his guitar triumphantly, his eyes locked on Jan’s face. “ _Your actions turn my stomach. Your behavior makes me sick. Now I can see right through you. I am no longer tricked…”_

He hesitated suddenly as the break leading into the chorus came up. This was the part they’d spent so much time on, and yet– had Neil said to play two bars? Or was it one and then he was supposed to jump into the chorus—

A cymbal crash jolted Wayne back to awareness. _Dammit,_ he’d stopped playing, and now Neil and Garth were continuing without him. His hands fumbled for the chords, but nothing sounded right. Was he coming in early or late with every line? He honestly couldn’t tell, and he didn’t seem to be alone. Garth faltered on the drums as he tried to compensate for Wayne’s mistakes. Even the usually unflappable Neil tripped up, holding one note as he tried to figure out where to come back in.

It all went downhill from there. The more Wayne tried to get back on track, the more the song fell apart. He was lucky they even made it to the end– or rather, the part where every band member decided to stop playing. For several seconds Wayne stood at the foot of the stage, his ears ringing, feeling the heat creep up his neck as Stan and Mrs. Harrison stared at him. While Stan was unimpressed, Mrs. Harrison seemed unsure of what to make of what had just happened. Then, as Wayne forced his gaze to pan over to Jan's seat, he realized it was empty. Swiftly he tracked her movement, halfway down the aisle to the door.

“Thank you, Bloodjun,” Mrs. Harrison said, just barely managing to cover her alarm. “You can pack up. The results will be posted outside the chorus room on M—”

Wayne hardly heard Mrs. Harrison over the sound of his pumping heart. As if in a trance, his feet carried him down from the stage and into the aisle. Then he was running, his guitar bouncing against his chest, following the trail that Jan had left. He only paused to lay his guitar in its case before bursting through the auditorium doors.

“Jan!” There she was, getting a drink from the water fountain. Wayne slowed down, though his heart was still racing. “Hey, Jan! How’d we do?”

“Um.” The look in Jan’s eye suggested that she really didn’t want to be having this conversation. “The results won’t be ready until Monday—”

“Sh’yeah, I heard that.” Wayne planted his feet on the ground, hoping Jan could see just how important this was to him. “But what’s _your_ opinion _?_ Are we getting in, or not?”

He saw the answer on Jan’s face before she said a word, but it still cracked him open when she shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Wayne…”

At first Wayne was speechless, unable to do anything but stare into Jan’s regretful eyes. Then he whirled around and marched down the hall, wanting nothing more than to get away from the auditorium and Jan and his band and that stupid, stupid panel of judges as soon as possible. A strong desire to kick something welled within him, but he held himself back with as much strength as he could muster.

“Wayne!” It was Garth’s voice, calling to him from behind, but Wayne didn’t stop to turn around. He kept walking, his head down and his speed increasing. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that Garth’s legs were longer than his, and so Garth caught up to him easily, with Neil right behind him. “Wayne! D’you think we got in?”

“No.” Wayne stiffened, his hands curling into fists. He glanced from Neil’s face to Garth’s, incensed by their presence and humiliated that he’d gotten them into this situation in the first place. “No, are you kidding? We blew it!”

“Ya think?” Neil said. “It’s ‘cause we suck! And you wanna know why we suck?”

Wayne’s fists grew tighter. Oh, he did _not_ need to hear this right now. “Is it because one of us never shows up to band practice on time?”

“No, it’s because one of us isn’t taking this band seriously!” Neil erupted. He set his instrument case on the ground and began counting off each finger. “Let’s see. You rush us through each song. You don’t bother to schedule extra practice time. You’re fine with switching instruments mid-song when you haven’t even tried to master one! You don’t contribute any songs, and I’m sorry to say it, dude, but you could _really_ brush up on your singing.”

Each of Neil’s points was a needle jabbing beneath Wayne’s skin. Suddenly, he couldn’t take it. All the resentment and jealousy he’d concealed for months under awkward conversations and lame jokes came bubbling to the surface. “Oh yeah? Well at least I know who my real friends are, and I’m not trying to _replace_ them.”

Neil gestured to Garth, with a look of fury the likes of which Wayne had never seen. “Oh, you’re not, are you?”

There was a momentary lull as both pairs of eyes fell upon Garth. Under their gaze, Garth looked trapped like a deer in the headlights. He stared wildly from Neil to Wayne, as if terrified to choose one over the other. “I thought I was your best friend, Wayne...”

“See?” Neil scoffed. “Even he thinks so!”

The rage finally reached its breaking point. Wayne spread his hands, half defensive and half pleading. “He’s not my best friend, okay? Of course I hang out with him– it's not like he has anyone else! But that doesn’t mean anything! You and I are buds! If I had to choose between you and Garth, you know who I’d pick!”

Again there was a silence, but not the kind of silence that waited to be broken. This silence was definitive, deafening, and final. As Wayne began to cool down, he became dimly aware of how still Neil was standing. He resembled a rock jutting up from the ocean, over which breakers crashed. Then Wayne’s heart plummeted as he glanced at Garth. Garth looked for all the world like he’d just been punched in the stomach. He stared shell-shocked at Wayne, as if unable to believe a word of what he’d just heard, though he knew it was all true.

“Garth…”

Without a word, Garth turned and began to walk away down the hall.

“Garth, wait…” Wayne wanted to follow him, but he felt helpless to even take a step. “Wait! Garth!”

“See ya later, Wayne,” Neil muttered. “ _Not_.”

With that, he too departed, heading in the opposite direction as Garth. Wayne was left standing in the hallway, with nothing but his wounded pride and a growing sense of dejection.

“Fine!” he shouted to no one in particular. “If that’s how it is, fine! I don’t need you! I don’t need _anyone!_ ”

In a huff, he turned back to the auditorium to retrieve his things, trying to ignore the weight descending on him.


	10. Chapter 10

_He’s not my best friend, okay?_ Wayne’s words echoed through Garth’s head, louder than the sound of tires on asphalt or the shouts from the nearby soccer field. _It's not like he has anyone else… that doesn’t mean anything… you know who I’d pick…_

God, he couldn’t get it to go away. No matter what popped into Garth’s head, he’d always been able to distract himself, usually with music or TV. But as he walked through school alone, Wayne’s voice kept intruding, invading all his senses.

The sound of laughter from the bus loop made Garth perk his head up slightly. A few kids were lounging around, waiting to be picked up. Garth stared straight at the ground as he walked past them, wishing that he could just disappear into the concrete. He didn’t want to feel their judgmental stares, to imagine the whispers behind his back– _There goes Garth Algar, the guy who was stupid enough to believe he had friends._

So absorbed was Garth in his thoughts that he didn’t notice he’d walked past the student pickup zone until a horn honked at him. He raised his head to spot his mother’s car pulling up at the curb. On any other day, she would have been a sight for sore eyes, but trepidation filled Garth instead. She’d ask him how the audition had gone, and he’d have to tell her all about how the band had screwed up and what Wayne had said…

With trembling hands, Garth opened the car door to see his mother beaming at him. “Hi, Garth! How was the…” Her words and smile trailed off as she noticed the expression on Garth’s face.

“Garth? Is something wrong?”

Every word in the English language seemed a million lightyears from Garth’s grasp. He shook his hair out and scrunched his eyes shut, trying his damnedest to block out the shame and misery surrounding him. Trying like hell not to cry.

“Oh, sweetie.” Garth’s mom reached over and gently tugged Garth down, pulling him into the car. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”

Garth woodenly sat down and buckled his seatbelt, still refusing to meet his mother’s eyes. His body lurched as the car pulled away from the curb. Staring down at the holes in his jeans, he started to pick at the loose threads, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.

Mrs. Algar didn’t say anything for most of the car ride, which was a little odd, but in that moment, Garth found it a godsend. Soon the traffic around them grew thicker, causing Garth to take notice of his surroundings. He frowned, mild curiosity piercing his melancholy. “Where are we going?”

His mother’s voice was soft. “We’re taking a detour.” She turned up the radio, and for once Garth didn’t feel like moaning about the Muzak.

By the time their destination came into view, Garth was starting to calm down, though he still felt shaky and unsteady. That wasn’t enough to keep him from being surprised when Mrs. Algar pulled up in front of Little Big Boy’s. He got out of the car and obediently followed his mother through the door, hardly registering the interior’s stuffiness or the cheesy 50’s music playing through the speakers.

Once they were seated at a table near the window, Garth felt the pressure building inside him. He unrolled his provided utensils and started shredding the napkin in which they’d been wrapped. His mother remained silent, which was weird as all hell. Normally she’d scold him for doing such a thing. Clearly she understood how upset Garth was, though she didn’t know why.

Garth had finished tearing the napkin into evenly-sized strips and was starting on a second, when a server came over, pen poised over a pad of paper. “Welcome to Little Big Boy’s, what can we get started for you today?”

“One black and white milkshake, please,” Mrs. Algar said calmly. “And one Little Big Boy’s deluxe milkshake with M&M’s on the side.”

Garth stared, surprised that his mother had remembered his order. It had been a while since they’d gone to Little Big Boy’s, at most a good couple years. His hands slowed in the process of ripping apart his napkin, but ultimately the bad thoughts continued to plague him.

It had been silly to think that just because Wayne was his best friend, that automatically meant he was _Wayne’s_ best friend. Getting hung up on this was stupid anyway, because Wayne hadn’t said they _weren’t_ friends. Still, what Wayne had said hurt, and honestly embarrassed Garth more than anything. He’d gotten so excited over the thought that someone had wanted to spend time with him that he’d clearly taken it too far.

The server returned shortly with the order- one black and white shake for Mrs. Algar, and one vanilla shake overflowing with whipped cream, chocolate drizzle, caramel drizzle, peanut butter, sprinkles, and a cherry on top. The M&M’s came in a little bowl on the side. Garth hardly waited for the server to set the milkshake down before he had plunged his fingers into the bowl. He squeezed together the first two M&M’s he grabbed– a green one and a brown one– until finally, the green one cracked. Garth deposited it into the milkshake, before picking up another M&M– orange this time– and squeezing it against the brown M&M. Gradually he settled into the M&M battle, the simple, repetitive motion easing the tension inside him and allowing him to focus on something that wasn’t the talent show audition.

When the ritual was over, and a red M&M had been declared the ultimate winner, Garth’s mother leaned over the table.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to,” she said. “I just want you to know that I’m always here for you.”

Garth shifted in his seat, collecting his thoughts. It was kind of bogus to tell his mother everything, when he should be able to handle it himself. But the longer he sat there without speaking, the heavier his burden became.

“I don’t think Wayne wants to be friends with me anymore,” he finally said.

Mrs. Algar slurped her milkshake through her straw. She leaned back, though her arms remained folded across the table. “So what does that matter?”

“Huh?”

“What does it matter?” Mrs. Algar repeated. “There’s no reason to be friends with someone who doesn’t want to be friends with you.”

Bewildered, Garth focused on the whipped cream dripping down the side of his glass. He reached for his napkin, forgetting that he’d shredded it. All his life, his parents had concerned themselves with his inability to socialize. They’d been over the moon when he’d first invited Wayne over. And now… his mother was contradicting everything she’d ever said?

“I thought you wanted me to make friends.”

“I want you to make friends who make you _happy,”_ Mrs. Algar said gently. “Are you happy being friends with Wayne?”

The question was one that deserved puzzling over. Garth took his time, sipping his milkshake and thinking. Wayne had said some hurtful things today, when he’d implied he’d rather spend time with Neil and hung out with Garth only due to pity. Sometimes he gave Garth weird looks, and though his music taste was mostly impeccable, some of the bands he praised were ones that Garth just couldn’t get into at all. But that wasn’t all who Wayne was. He was the guy who’d stuck his neck out for a student he didn’t even know, who’d talked said student into hatching a plan that he’d have never in a million years come up with on his own. He was the first to invite Garth anywhere when it wasn’t out of obligation, and the one who’d always made sure Garth felt comfortable and was having fun. Most importantly, he had never, not even once, made Garth feel left out– until today. He’d accepted him for who he was and who he always would be.

Overall, Garth would have said that Wayne’s positive qualities outweighed his flaws– but that was before he’d seen an uglier side of Wayne, a more dismissive, nastier side. It pained him to think that their friendship had been a sham all this time, just because Wayne needed someone and Garth happened to be there.

He looked over at his mother’s serene countenance. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” Mrs. Algar reached over to pat Garth’s hand. “It’s okay not to know. Just remember, if anything’s troubling you, you can come talk to me.”

She retreated to take another sip of her milkshake, while Garth marveled at her kindness. Of course he’d always loved his mother, and trusted her with his life. But he’d never have expected her to treat him to milkshakes like he was a kid again, just because he’d had a bad day.

The whipped cream sunk lower and lower in the glass, until finally Garth broke out the spoon and started scooping it up. As he did, his thoughts grew clearer and clearer. So Wayne had never truly been Garth’s friend? So what. Their friendship had been real to Garth, and that was what counted. If Wayne never contacted him again, that would seriously suck. But what would suck more would be pretending that nothing had ever happened and everything was fine. Whichever route Wayne was willing to take, Garth didn’t know. He’d just have to wait and see.

Once both milkshake glasses had been drained and the server had brought them their check, Garth was feeling a lot better. He cleared his throat as he and his mother both stood up. “Um, Mom?”

Mrs. Algar stopped fiddling with her purse. “Yes?”

A tiny smile appeared on Garth’s face, his first since witnessing Wayne’s hallway outburst. “Thank you for the ice cream. I love you.”

Mrs. Algar’s face melted. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” She bridged the gap between them, folding Garth in her arms and rubbing his back. Garth didn’t even care that they were in public. Moms could be embarrassing sometimes, but today, he felt lucky to have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As corny as it is to dedicate a fanfic that she'll never read based on a movie that I'm not even sure she likes to my mother, this chapter is dedicated to my mother in a way, since the conversation between Garth and his mother is based heavily on several conversations that I've had with her. (Author projection, who me?) 
> 
> As mentioned in my previous Wayne's World fanfic, Little Big Boy's is totally fictitious and not intended to resemble anything specific. I actually didn't know there was a real life restaurant called Big Boy until after I'd posted that fic.
> 
> Also as mentioned in the previous fic, the part with the M&M battle is taken from [this post.](https://www.craigslist.org/about/best/tpa/409930561.html)


	11. Chapter 11

A scuffling sound woke Garth bright and early from his melatonin-induced slumber. He opened his eyes to find Girl at his bedside, pawing frantically at the floor. Garth sat up and stretched.

“What is it, Girl? Is someone at the door?”

Girl let out a sharp bark, confirming Garth’s suspicions. He patted her on the head– “good Girl!”– before getting up and padding down the hall to the stairs. Most likely it was just some delivery person, but since Girl had woken Garth before either of his parents, it was up to him to find out who was paying him a visit.

When Garth opened the door, he ended up gawking. Before him stood Wayne, clad in a Chicago Blackhawks jersey, with his cap pulled low over his eyes. In one hand he clutched two hockey sticks, and in the other, a goalie mask and a separate jersey.

“Hi,” Wayne said. His voice was low, cautious. “Can we go play hockey and talk?”

Lost for a reaction, Garth finally managed, “Sure.” He crept backwards. “Just let me change clothes…” A million thoughts rushed through his head as he closed the door. Part of him was eager to hear whatever Wayne had to say, but another part of him was deeply anxious. Was Wayne just trying to make peace or did he genuinely regret what had happened the day before?

Once Garth had dressed, taken his meds, and returned to the front stoop, he found Wayne sitting at his doorstep with a downtrodden air. He raised his head when Garth appeared, but seemed to have no intention of moving, so Garth sat down beside him. He pulled at the threads on his ripped jeans, unwilling to meet Wayne’s eyes. Wayne stared straight ahead, apparently suffering the same conflict.

Just as Garth was beginning to think they’d sit there silently forever, Wayne spoke up. His words came out stiffly and awkwardly, as if he’d rehearsed them. “I'd like to apologize for hurting your feelings when I diminished our friendship in front of Neil yesterday."

“Okay…” There were several different ways to respond to that, none of which were coming to Garth. He wasn’t sure if Wayne comprehended how deeply yesterday’s rant had impacted him. This wasn’t an olive branch-type situation. How could he trust that Wayne was being sincere? As Garth snuck a peek at Wayne, though, he suspected that Wayne was as sincere as he’d ever been. Though he’d never been the best at reading facial expressions, Garth recognized the look Wayne was wearing. It was the same one that he'd seen in the rear-view mirror of his mom's car the day before.

Garth turned his head fully towards Wayne. “I accept your apology.”

Wayne turned his head too, a despairing glint in his eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it, right? You’re my best friend, and so is Neil.” He sighed heavily, folding his elbows across his knees. “I mean, I guess he is.”

“Why does it have to be him or me?” Garth blurted. Such a question had troubled him all night, but he hadn’t been sure how to phrase it until now. It was as if a sharp, shining sword had cut through the murky pathways of his brain, paving the way to a revelation. “I never had friends like you guys before. Can’t we all just get along without worrying over who’s the best?”

Wayne was staring at Garth the same way he had the morning after they’d seen _Child’s Play_ together, a look that Garth had taken to mean he was talking too much. But this context left him wondering if he’d misjudged it.

“Garth, I don’t get it,” Wayne said finally. “You’re a cool guy. How come you never had friends before?”

Garth shrugged. “No one ever talked to me.” The nonchalance with which he spoke briefly puzzled him. It used to be so cut and dry– _you don’t have friends because no one talks to you._ But it had taken years for anyone to try. Garth wondered if he should feel more bothered about that than he did.

“Why didn’t _you_ try to talk to anyone?” Wayne asked.

_Huh…_ Garth pondered the question, realizing he’d never really thought about it. “I guess… I guess I thought they’d think I was weird.”

“Garth!” Wayne exclaimed, pounding his fist against his knee. “You can’t let the negative opinions of others influence your self-image. It’s like what that Smalley guy on TV says, that’s just _stinking_ thinking.”

Garth shook his head. Sometimes he found Wayne more difficult to understand than anyone else. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? ‘Cause I don’t talk in school and I get too excited, and… I take pills.” He was surprised to have let such a thing slip, but at the same time, he had a feeling that now was the time to tell Wayne, if he’d ever planned on doing so.

The unidentifiable look had returned to Wayne’s eyes. Afraid that Wayne was judging him, Garth shifted self-consciously, but when Wayne spoke, he realized his friend was only intrigued. “What kind of pills?”

“Ritalin,” Garth mumbled.

The word didn’t seem to have any meaning to Wayne, but he nodded all the same. “You’re not mental, are you?”

“...I don’t think so.” The more Garth thought about it, the more he realized that he only really felt mental when he _wasn’t_ taking his pills. At the drop of a hat, everything and anything could become the most interesting thing in the world, and if Garth couldn’t give all of it his complete attention, his brain came close to bursting. Once he’d started taking medication, though, each day became more manageable. He was able to apply himself and stay on task for hours at a time, instead of jumping between ten projects at once and getting none of them done. Which was probably how most people handled their lives.

Wayne shrugged. “Okay, bonus.” He drummed his fingers against the goalie mask in his hands, as if he’d already put what Garth had said out of his mind. Slowly, the weight on Garth’s shoulders eased. He hadn’t been sure if Wayne would accept him, given what had gone down the day before, but now he knew that he shouldn’t have been afraid.

“Hey, y’know that day in Atlee’s class when I dropped my Walkman and you said it was yours?” Garth said abruptly. “Why’d you do that?”

Wayne laughed. “‘Cause no one would’ve done it for me.”

Garth contemplated the selflessness Wayne had displayed during that fateful meeting, and how he’d stuck up for Garth ever since. He wondered if he would have done the same in Wayne’s position.

“It's funny," he said. "'Cause I never would have talked to you if it wasn’t for that."

Wayne rested his chin on his fist. “I know.”

Again they sat silently, each reflecting on the experiences that had led them to this point, before Wayne shook himself. “Hey, what are we waiting for?” He got up from the doorstep and grabbed the hockey sticks that he’d left leaning against the side of Garth’s house. “I brought you a stick, let’s go play!”

“Okay.” Garth rose, hopefulness flickering through him. Maybe everything would end up fine. There were still some tough matters to sort out, such as the fate of Bloodjun and Neil's own hurt feelings, but Wayne was back in Garth’s life and that was all he cared about.

“Here.” Wayne held out the jersey he’d brought over. “You can wear my brother’s jersey.”

Garth fumbled as he grabbed it. “Is– is it because I’m like a brother to you?”

“No, it’s just the only one I had,” Wayne said. “But, uh. Yeah. You are.” He grinned his trademark grin, before running across the street. His spirits high, Garth followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make it clear that I don't intend to represent every person with AD(H)D when I write about Garth's experiences with taking medication. Every person is different and I can only speak for myself.
> 
> Yes, I referenced Stuart Smalley because I imagine that all the SNL movies (and most of the sketches) take place in the same universe.


	12. Chapter 12

After a long, hard day of hockey and homework, Wayne retired to his basement sanctuary. For once, he didn’t immediately turn on the TV or pick up his guitar, instead flopping horizontally onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling. So much was running through his head, and he felt the need to give each thought precedence before choosing to drown them out. For hours Wayne lay there, his hands behind his head, drawing invisible designs on the ceiling. At one point, unnerved by the silence, his mother came down to ask if he was okay. When Wayne replied that he was fine, just thinking, she didn’t seem any more comforted than if he’d admitted something was wrong.

Eventually Wayne’s thoughts reached a conclusion, and he sat up. What it all boiled down to was this– Wayne had just spent an entire morning playing street hockey with Garth, and he’d enjoyed himself far more than any of the times he’d hung out with Neil over the past few months. It was something he’d sensed for a while, but hadn’t wanted to admit. Garth was _...And Justice For All,_ a highly anticipated album that hadn’t quite lost its shiny new sheen, while Neil was _Master of Puppets,_ beloved in its own way but all too familiar a couple years after its release. He was the spoon that had been carelessly replaced, left to form connections with the other spoons in the drawer while Wayne neglected them. But none of this was news. The real issue was that, as Garth had said, the spoon in the drawer would always be waiting for him… except when it wouldn’t. And if Wayne continued to rely on his signature blend of pushiness and jealousy, the latter grew more likely.

Ruefully, Wayne realized what needed to be done. He’d regretted his behavior towards Garth almost immediately, spending Friday night with a sick feeling building in his stomach. But Neil deserved an apology too, just as much as Garth had. And maybe Neil owed him an apology as well.

The only question was, would Neil accept the apology as easily as Garth? And if Neil apologized, would Wayne be able to swallow his pride? Even with an entire night to ponder, Wayne reached no conclusion.

Sunday was the second day in a row that Wayne woke up early, in order to finish all his chores. His mother nearly had a heart attack when she found his room spotless and his clothes washed, dried, and folded. Again she asked if he was feeling all right, and again Wayne answered in the affirmative. He hoped this would be enough incentive for his mother to agree to drive him over to Neil’s house. The fact that he’d had to call his parents from the front office after school on Friday instead of riding home with Garth had indicated that things weren’t peachy between them. But Wayne hadn’t breathed a word to his parents about his troubles with Neil, because it simply wasn’t any of their business. He needed to work out a solution on his own without relying on authority figures. Fortunately, the housework plan succeeded, and Mrs. Campbell dropped Wayne off at Neil’s without questioning his desire to go there.

Neil’s house was significantly larger than Wayne’s, but not to the point where it had ever intimidated him. He rehearsed his lines in his head as he waited for someone to answer the doorbell. _Hey Neil, I’m sorry for what I did, you’re a bud…_ No, Neil deserved better than that. But what was Wayne supposed to say—

With a _swish,_ the door opened to reveal Neil’s mother. “Oh!” She stared startled at her unexpected visitor. “Hello, Wayne! What brings you here?”

“Hi, Mrs. Hunter,” Wayne said solemnly. “I wanted to know if Neil was here?’

“Why, y—” Mrs. Hunter stopped herself as Neil came up from behind her, wearing an equally mind-boggled stare. “Wayne? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” Wayne spread his hands out, keeping his voice light. It wouldn’t do to disturb Mrs. Hunter. “You wanna come outside?”

“Uh—” Neil stepped closer, subtly pushing his mother away. “You can come up to my room.”

“Excellent.” Wayne followed Neil through the door, across the living room, and up the stairs.

Neil’s bedroom was absurdly tidy– Wayne guessed he too had been up early to finish his chores. Though he’d put all his junk away, his walls were still a cluttered mess of rock stars and sports players. Wayne almost sat down on the bed, which was his usual seat in Neil’s room, but since he figured Neil might still be mad at him, he pulled the chair out from Neil’s desk instead. Neil paced in front of the closet, his expression unreadable.

“So what’s up?” Wayne hoped he didn’t sound too perky, but he had to get the ball rolling.

“I dunno, man.” Neil folded his arms across his chest and stared Wayne down. “You tell me.”

The tension in the air was palpable, and Wayne had no idea which of them would break it first. However, the longer he sat there, it gradually dawned on him. This discussion was all on him. He had to get his apology out of the way before anything else.

“Neil, I think I should say something.” Wayne exhaled. “I’m sorry I went mental on you on Friday. I was mad about the audition, and I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.”

“Yeah?” Neil murmured. He still stood in a guarded, closed-off stance, as if he were waiting for more. _Well, no wonder._ Friday was far from the first incident of their friendship faltering.

“Look, you’re one of my best friends, right?” Wayne said. “But so’s Garth, and so’s Stan and Terry and all those other guys. It doesn’t mean I like you better than Garth, or I like Garth better than you, or whatever. You’re my bud, Neil. We shouldn’t be fighting over this. It’s totally pail– it’s bucket.”

Though Neil didn’t move, his stance relaxed, and his eyes adopted a sense of confusion. “Then why’d you say you’d pick me over Garth?”

“I don’t know…” For all of Friday night, Wayne had racked his brain over where those nasty words had come from. He hadn’t been able to rest until he’d gotten in touch with Garth, and even though Garth had forgiven him, he found it hard to forgive himself. “I was afraid, okay? I thought… I thought you were trying to replace me. I thought you were comparing me to Alan.”

“Dude.” Neil swallowed, finally unfolding his arms. “I thought _you_ were comparing me to Garth.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Wayne said loudly. “And I’m sorry that I made you think I was. And I’m sorry that I ruined our shot at the talent show. And I’m sorry I didn’t take the band seriously.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t trust you!” Neil burst out, his eyes gleaming. “You’re my friend, man. I shouldn’t’ve gotten on you so much…”

“Aw, c’mon, Neil.” Wayne got up and crossed the floor to Neil’s side. Immediately Neil threw his arms around Wayne, and Wayne hugged him back. “No hard feelings. Don’t get all weepy on me, all right?”

“All right,” Neil said, his voice half-muffled by Wayne’s shoulder. Pulling away, he smiled gently. “Anyway, don’t worry about the talent show. If it makes you feel any better, I just wanted to help the A/V club run audio.”

Wayne frowned. “Are you kidding? You’re an incredible musician! You should be up there onstage!”

“Not really.” Neil walked over to his bed and plopped down, bedsprings creaking beneath him.

“But you wrote ‘Parasite,’” Wayne protested. “That’s easily our best song.”

“Well, actually…” Neil rubbed his chin. “It’s not my song. I can’t write a lyric to save my life.”

“Then who wrote it?” Wayne blurted, utterly intrigued.

“Get this, man…” Neil unexpectedly cracked up, shaking his head from side to side. “You'll never believe it. It was Christopher.”

“Your _brother?”_ Wayne felt his eyes pop. Not the lame jazz drummer who turned up his nose at every metal band in existence? “No way!”

“Way!” Neil insisted.

“No _way!”_

“Way!” Neil’s amusement sparkled in his eyes, and despite himself, Wayne felt that all was right with the world. “Don’t tell him, though, he doesn't know I copied down his lyrics.”

“So… all those songs you showed us, those were his all along?”

Neil nodded. “He wrote pretty much everything except the arrangements… I just made them more metallic. I mean, you weren't writing anything, and I couldn't think of anything, so... I guess I saw the opportunity, and I took it.”

_Huh,_ Wayne wanted to say. _Pretty hardcore lyrics for jazz._ But he found himself hung up on something more important.

“So we don’t have any original songs. Except for ‘Pain Cave.’”

“I mean…” Neil pensively drummed his fingers against his chin. “Is that really a problem?”

Wayne shot Neil a dubious look. “I thought you wanted to be in a band.”

“Well, it was fun at first.” Swinging his legs up, Neil sprawled across his bed. “But, I dunno. Once it started being about winning over your dream girl, and stopped being about the music… I wasn’t enjoying myself, y’know?”

Guilt overwhelmed Wayne. The thought of whipping Bloodjun into shape for Jan’s benefit seemed silly now that he’d made such a fool of himself at the audition. He should have listened to Neil and scheduled more practice hours, or skipped auditioning altogether. Instead, he’d pushed them into something for which they weren’t ready, just to impress a chick. Because he’d wanted Jan to see him as more than who he really was.

“Do you really think the band sucks?” Wayne said softly.

Neil sighed. “I’m sorry I said that. We don’t suck. But we’re not talent show material.”

“God, I can’t believe Jan saw all that,” Wayne groaned. He felt like smacking himself. “Talk about getting a load.”

“Why do you care what she thinks?” Neil asked. “Just be yourself. Stick to whatever you're good at.”

_Whatever you’re good at…_ The words stirred Wayne’s creative juices, clearing away the cobwebs in his head. He dimly recalled Sonya’s advice, offered to him months ago:

_Just be careful, okay? Some girls get scared off by grand gestures. You don’t want her to feel like she owes you._

In that moment, Wayne knew he should have listened to Sonya from the start. Bloodjun didn’t exist as an elaborate means of getting the girl. If Wayne was going to do anything at the talent show, it had to be for his own benefit. And suddenly, he knew where to start.

“Neil.” Wayne broke into a grin. “I believe I might have a solution to our problem.”


	13. Chapter 13

Wayne feverishly scanned the notecards he’d written up several days ago, praying that the sweat on his palms wouldn’t smear the ink. He tugged at his tie for what had to be the hundredth time– would it have killed whoever invented ties to make them a _little_ more comfortable? And would it _really_ send Mrs. Harrison into a conniption fit if he didn’t wear it? Thank god he’d planned several costume changes throughout the night, otherwise Wayne was sure he’d eventually drop dead.

“Okay, Garth.” Wayne looked into his friend’s skittish eyes, willing him to stay in the moment. “Let’s go through our opening remarks again. _‘Hi, I’m Wayne Campbell…’”_

“And I’m Garth Algar,” Garth mumbled. With his hands jammed in his dress suit’s pockets, Wayne guessed that they were sweating even more than his own.

_“‘And we’d like to welcome you to the 1989 Aurora High School Talent Show!’”_ Wayne finished. _“‘Or as we like to call it, Party Central! Party heartyyyyy!”_ He shuffled through his handmade cue cards to make sure they were in order. “Okay, Garth, that’s your line…”

“We’ve got a great show for you tonight,” Garth said flatly, sounding as if he’d rather be anywhere else. “We’ve got singing, and dancing, and acting, and c… c…”

“Comedy!” Wayne jumped in. He gave Garth a worried once-over. “Are you okay?”

“Uhhhh…” Garth couldn’t seem to speak, but he shook his head no. Wayne sighed anxiously, glancing down the hall to where several breakdancers were warming up, and the three girls whose audition he’d watched practiced their harmonies with a pitch-pipe. Any moment now, Mrs. Harrison would come backstage and tell Wayne and Garth that they were on. _Fine time for Garth to lose his nerve._

A month ago, when the list of acts had been confirmed for the talent show, everyone who’d auditioned had flocked to the chorus room to find out whether they’d made the cut. Wayne, however, hadn’t bothered to check. Already he was dreaming of bigger and better things. Confronting Jan at his locker, he’d fired off the excellent proposition with which he’d come up over the weekend: “Hey, so, I know I didn’t do good at the talent show auditions, but if you give me a second chance, d’you think you could use a host?”

Wayne was in luck. Since Stan was serving as a judge, the role of host was free for the taking. And since Wayne’s announcements during spirit week had gotten such a positive response, Neil hardly needed to twist Stan’s arm. All Wayne had to do was vouch for Garth, which was easily accomplished with the help of Alan and Neil. Tonight both were present, Neil serving in the control booth while Alan shot video from the audience. Just knowing that his friends were out there made Wayne feel like he was in good hands. He wished Garth would feel the same.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Garth,” Wayne said, turning his attention back to his friend. “It’ll be fun, trust me! Just pretend we’re at the Oscars.”

Terror ran rampant in Garth’s eyes. “NO! The Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles holds over _six thousand people!_ AHHH! AHH—”

“Garth! Take your Ritalin.” The words slipped out before Wayne knew what he was saying. He hesitated, worried that Garth would take offense, but Garth merely seemed surprised. “We’re not in LA, okay? We’re in Aurora. I bet the whole student body couldn’t fit into our auditorium. We’re gonna do fine!”

“Gonna do… fine?” Garth repeated, as if trying to convince himself.

“Yes!” Wayne grabbed Garth’s shoulder. “We’re gonna go out there and do _great._ The audience’ll love us!” He let go of Garth. “If you have to, just look at me the whole time, okay?”

“Okay,” Garth said, nodding. He looked away while Wayne pulled his cue cards from his sleeve and flipped through them again. After drilling their banter over and over for the past few weeks, Wayne couldn’t imagine screwing up. Of course, his hunches didn’t always turn out correct– _just look at what happened when we auditioned._ But tonight, the overall positive vibe was strong. This was one good feeling on which Wayne felt he could rely.

A nearby door opened, and Mrs. Harrison stepped out. Behind her lay the gaping maw of the auditorium’s backstage. Mrs. Harrison’s gaze traveled from face to face, before landing on Wayne and Garth. She gave a sharp nod. “All right, boys, you’re free to go on.”

“Wayne,” Garth said urgently. Wayne looked over to find that his friend’s face had gone ashen. “I think I’m gonna—” Immediately Garth turned tail and bolted for the nearest trash can. Wayne turned his back, grimacing as Garth threw up behind him. “Garth, don’t let me catch a whiff of that! You know I’m a sympathy spewer!”

“Do you need anything?” Mrs. Harrison asked nervously as Garth wandered back over. “Water, aspirin…”

“No.” Garth wiped his mouth and offered a shaky smile. “I feel better now. Thank you.”

Wayne blew out a long breath. “Okay, all right.” He gestured to the stage door. “After you, my good sir…”

Garth stepped into the darkness, with Wayne right behind him. Together they ascended the stairs leading up to the stage. With every step, Wayne’s excitement mounted higher. He trembled as they reached the wings. _This is it! They’re gonna love us!_ A drum set had been assembled onstage, which Garth headed for straight away. Wayne, in the meantime, moved in the direction of the microphone at the foot of the stage. Removing it from its stand, he closed his eyes and honed in on the gentle mutterings and coughs from behind the curtain. Then, once he’d thoroughly absorbed the moment, he gave Mrs. Harrison the thumb’s up. She cued the stagehand, who in turn began to hoist the curtain. As she did so, Garth began a drumroll. He ended on a cymbal crash as the blinding spotlights came on and Wayne found himself face to face with a living, breathing audience.

“Hi, I’m Wayne Campbell!” he exclaimed, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. With the light in his eyes, it was hard to gauge the reaction of the people watching, but he figured that was for the best, since he couldn’t tell if they were judging him. _Leave that to the judges._

“And I’m Garth Algar!” Garth declared boisterously from the mic that had been set up by the drum set. The confidence in his voice nearly knocked Wayne over. He couldn’t believe that was the same guy who’d been freaking out backstage only a few minutes prior.

“And we’d like to welcome you to the 1989 Aurora High School Talent Show!” Wayne continued. “Or, as we like to call it, Party Central!” He brought the microphone closer to his lips and threw his head back. “PARTY HEARTYYYYYY!”

Instantly the room filled with claps and cheers, sweeping comfortingly over Wayne like a much-needed breeze on a hot day. He grinned, feeling the iceberg of the room begin to thaw. Though he couldn’t see them, he knew Neil was out there adjusting faders, completely in his element, while Jan sat up front at the judge’s table, pen in hand. _This one’s for you, my friends._

“We’ve got a great show for you tonight!” Garth announced as he sidled up to Wayne, mic in hand. For a second, his closeness put Wayne off, but then he remembered that Garth was only taking his advice– _if you have to, just look at me the whole time, all right?_ Garth's eyes were glued to Wayne, as if Wayne were his life preserver against the sea that was the audience. The realization was chuckle-worthy, but Wayne refrained.

“We’ve got singing, and dancing, and acting, and comedy!”

“A veritable feast for the entertainment aficionados among us,” Wayne added. “You know who you are! So stay in your seat, unless you gotta take a leak, or your baby won’t shut its mouth.”

“Yeah, babies are the worst critics!” Garth said. “You can’t win ‘em over, no matter what you do. They just cry and moan!”

_“Excellent_ observation!” Wayne turned back to the audience. “So with no further ado, we’d like to bring out our first act for you, okay? All right! Here they are, the most talented triplets who aren’t related by blood, with a song made famous by the Chordettes…” Together he and Garth shouted the act’s name. “THE SINGING SOPRANO SISTERS!” The harmony-singers stepped onstage, and Wayne and Garth rushed to the wings to wait out the performance.

Considering how lengthy the endless rehearsals had felt, both at school and at home, Wayne was surprised at how quickly the night flew by. Each act passed in a quick succession. Wayne had barely enough time to come down from being onstage, before he was called back again. Having been given full reign to craft their remarks as hosts, he and Garth pulled out all the stops. They played a musical word-association game based on each upcoming performer. They entered from the rear of the theater and ran a commentary on the various audience members they encountered on their way back to the stage. They even got some mileage from Garth’s specialty, the Top Ten List.

“Okay, we’ve got some more talented acts coming up in just a second, but first, Garth and I would like to present—” Raising his hands in an air guitar motion, Wayne began to chant the title of their presentation alongside Garth. “ _Top Ten! Things We Love! About Aurora High!”_ He pretended to rhythmically sweep the guitar, while Garth jumped up and down. “Okay, all right! Number ten: afternoon study hall. Sh’ _yeah!_ It’s like _naptime!_ Y’know, Garth, a recent poll shows that anyone who actually _studies_ in that class has a 0% chance of retaining the information, and a _100%_ chance of being stuffed into a locker!”

Garth cracked up, stomping his feet and pounding his knee, before getting back on track. “Number nine: the bus loop.” He grinned hopefully at the audience. “It’s Aurora’s prime hangout spot for anyone under eighteen, or anyone who got kicked out of Mikita’s!”

“Number eight: pizza Fridays. _Excellent.”_

“Number seven: Mrs. Strayhorn’s algebra 2 class.” In unison, Garth and Wayne chorused, “ _Not!”_

“Number six,” Wayne continued. “The graffiti in the restrooms. It’s the only thing to keep me updated on who went out with whose sister, and who’s got the latest disease, and how much I really don’t care.”

“Number five: Aurora High’s athletics department! _Goooooo Tomcats!_ ” Once the obligatory cheers died down, Garth added, “They’re paying us to say that.”

Wayne held up one of his cue cards. “It's written down here, see?”

“Yeah, we tried to get out of it but Principal Miller had an aneurysm!” Garth’s voice deepened, a scowl filling his face. “‘What? You let those punks take over the talent show just so they could bash our school? Well, tell them they can— _uuuaaaaagh!’”_ The scowl on Garth’s face turned to an agonized grimace as he stumbled backward, clutching his head.

“Sheesh, settle down,” Wayne said. “Okay. Number four: fire drills. Hey, they suck, but they get you out of class.”

“Number three!” Garth exclaimed. “The student body!”

“Number two: the student _bodies.”_ Wayne winked. “And if I say another word, there’s a lady backstage who’s waiting with a _biiiiiig_ hook.”

“Okay! And the number one thing to love about Aurora High School is…” Garth paused to catch Wayne’s eye, before they both shouted, “THE TALENT!!”

“Seriously, people,” Wayne said as the applause fizzled out. “I had no _idea_ how many talented guys go to this school! Did you know that, Garth?”

“I did _not_ know that!”

“Okay!” Wayne rubbed his hands together. “So, with that in mind, we’d like to bring out the next act. You might know them for always cutting up in Mr. Dyer’s class, but these two take physics to a whole _new_ level with their juggling extravaganza!”

Garth leaned in close to the microphone. “ _Heeeeeeeeeere’s_ Johnny!”

“Uh, Garth, I think you mean…” Wayne cleared his throat and grandly swept his hand through the air. “ _Heeeeeeeeeeere’s_ Jason Burke and Kevin Reagan, the hula-hooping jugglers!”

Eventually the night wound down to a close, as all good things had to. When Wayne burst from the bathroom, once again clad in his uncomfortable tuxedo, he found that not only was Garth waiting for him, but the entire cast of performers as well. Some regarded him with a newfound interest, as if they’d never really _seen_ Wayne before but now they couldn’t look away. The unexpected reaction pleased Wayne, but he refused to let it distract him. There was still a show to do.

“All right, Garth,” Wayne said as he approached his co-host. “Did you get the list of names?”

Nodding, Garth held up the envelopes that Mrs. Harrison had passed off to him earlier, each one containing the name of a different winner. At the sight of them, Wayne broke into a huge grin.

“Okay!” he shouted, addressing the buzzing talent throughout the hall. “Everybody, listen up! We’re gonna go back onstage, all right? And all of you are gonna come with us!”

“So just follow Wayne,” Garth cried, “and everything will be okay!”

“Excellent.” Wayne strode proudly forward, beckoning for everyone else to follow. “Come on!” Buoyed by Wayne’s enthusiasm, the other students filed into place behind him, their excitement palpably rushing over the hallway like ocean waves.

Right as Wayne, Garth, and the performers reached the wings, a familiar catchy synth intro began blaring from the speakers mounted before the stage. Though Wayne had been disappointed when Mrs. Harrison turned down his initial musical suggestions in favor of something softer, he had to admit, this was one of Van Halen’s classics. He steadied himself with a deep breath before running out onstage, Garth hot on his heels and the rest of the performers surging around him.

_I get up, and nothing gets me down_

_You got it tough, I’ve seen the toughest around_

_And I know, baby, just how you feel_

_You got to roll with the punches, and get to what’s real_

The initial plan on Wayne’s part had been to simply use the song as entrance music, but the talent competitors had other ideas. Sudden dancing broke out onstage, as if a lid that had been clamped tightly over the competitors had just been removed. The Singing Soprano Sisters forced their previous choreography to match the beat, while Jason and Kevin, the jugglers, swung each other by the elbow in an old-fashioned square dance routine. Tonnage, the headbanger band, lived up to their monikers, and the breakdancers reprised their act from earlier. The rest just grooved to the infectious beat. Hearing the audience’s wild response, Wayne gave in and busted out his finest moves, while Garth clapped to the beat and jumped up and down every time David Lee Roth suggested he did so.

_Might as well jump! Jump!_

_Might as well jump! Jump!_

_Go ahead and jump! Jump!_

_Go ahead and jump…_

“All right!” Wayne proclaimed as the exuberant talents pushed him over to the microphone. “All right, easy! _Easy!_ Before we announce the winners, we’d like to give a shout-out to our friends Neil Hunter, Alan Kane, and Terry Ward for helping Mr. Eberman film and mix this entire show! Those guys are the _real_ talent!”

“And,” Garth announced, as “Jump” began to fade out and the performers caught their breaths, “thanks to Mrs. Harrison for organizing this event! We couldn’t’ve done it without you!”

“Sh’yeah, no guff!” Wayne joined in on the audience’s applause, feeling as if his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He’d really never cared about the school talent show before tonight, but now that he’d played a small part in it, he was awed by how much work went into organizing such an event.

“And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for!” Wayne held out his hand. “Garth, the first envelope, please?” Garth handed it over.

“Drumroll!” Obligingly, Garth provided one with his mouth, miming along as well. Carefully, Wayne ripped open the envelope. “The third-place winner of the 1989 Aurora High School Talent Show is…” He unfolded the piece of paper within. “ _The Singing Soprano Sisters!”_

Both the stage and the auditorium erupted as the three girls who’d sung a Chordettes song began jumping up and down and hugging each other. Wayne was a little surprised that they’d managed to score so highly, but seeing how overjoyed they were made it worthwhile.

“Garth?” he prompted, once the electricity had died down. Garth, who’d been staring into the distance, snapped back to reality.

“Okay! The second-place winner of the 1989 Aurora High School Talent Show is… um…” For a few nerve-inducing seconds, Garth struggled with the envelope, but finally he was able to open it and unfold the paper within. As soon as he read the name to himself, he began shaking happily and pointing to the winners onstage. “The Beatz Crew!”

The members of the Beatz Crew went wild, breaking into a few celebratory moves. From the auditorium, the cheering reached a fever pitch. Wayne hoped that whoever came in first place deserved the honor.

“And the first-place winner!” he shouted into the microphone, not bothering to wait for the applause to die. “The first-place winner... of the 1989 Aurora High School Talent Show… is…”

Wayne motioned for Garth to come closer so they could read the name together. “TONNAGE!!”

A low, raucous cheering rose up from the headbangers onstage, slowly rising in pitch until they ended up high-fiving each other. Wayne couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Based on the judge’s scores, Tonnage had rightfully made it into the talent show over Bloodjun. As the only act that didn’t play totally bogus music, they'd killed it.

“All right!” Wayne shouted, grabbing the microphone from its stand. “Okay! That’s the end of the talent show! Thank you all so much for coming!”

Those were the only words he could get out before the night’s closing song took over. Instantly the performers swept Wayne back up, encircling him at the front of the stage. Wayne threw his arm around Garth’s shoulders, while Garth threw his arm around the shoulders of the person next to him. They began to sway, triumphantly belting out the words to a song Wayne knew only too well.

_We are the champions, my friends!_

_And we’ll keep on fighting ‘til the end…_

“WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!” the audience was screaming back, even though Wayne could have pointed out that they hadn’t won anything. “WEEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS…” More and more talents gathered to the front of the stage, until all had their arms around each other and were singing along, regardless of whether they’d won.

_No time for losers, ‘cause we are the champions!_

It was a moment good enough to be freeze-framed. Wayne only wished Mrs. Harrison had honored his request for confetti cannons.

*

By the time Wayne and Garth had traded in their suits for more comfortable clothes, the hallway was swamped. Parents and siblings congratulated their talented family members, while faculty tried to keep an eye on the rambunctious students. Several kids gave Wayne a smile or a thumb’s up as they passed, while others clapped him and Garth on the back or asked to shake their hands. Wayne, however, only had eyes for the dudes who’d just exited the auditorium, looking disheveled but happy– Neil, Alan, and Terry.

“Neil!” At once Wayne was running, summoning up the last dregs of his energy. He and Neil met in the middle of the hall, high-fiving each other and high-fiving Garth and bouncing around. Noticing that Alan was hanging back on the sidelines, Wayne motioned for him to join in. Pride swelled in him as he gazed into Alan’s approving eyes. All the animosity that he’d harbored for Alan over several months had melted away.

“We did it!” Garth kept saying, over and over. Wayne had never seen him riding such a high. It occurred to him suddenly that Garth hadn’t looked down at the ground or hidden behind his hair throughout the entire night. His pride deepened. _Guess he’s coming out of his shell._

“Of course we did!” Neil exclaimed, holding his arms open. “Come on, get in here!” It only took a split second of beckoning before Wayne mobbed him, and another second before Garth and Alan joined in. The combined force sent Neil staggering into the nearest locker, and set off uncontrollable laughter.

“You _guys,”_ an appreciative voice announced from behind Wayne. A second later, the breath fled his lungs in an _oof_ as the mysterious speaker attacked him with a hug.

“Terry doesn’t like to be left out,” Neil explained as he pulled away from the group hug. Wayne shook Terry off and turned around, just in time to catch his squinty-eyed grin and wave.

“You guys were _great!”_ Terry exclaimed, in a voice that sounded a tad too amped up for the situation. “I mean… wow, man! Just, wow!”

“No, _you_ guys rocked,” Garth said, saving Wayne from having to make further conversation. “I mean it, man! Bitchin’ audio and video!”

“Shut up.” There was a sheepish smile on Alan’s face, undercutting his humility. “We just aimed the cameras where Mr. Eberman told us to.”

The congratulating went on for a few more rounds, but by that point, Wayne had drifted away from his friends. He stared out at the joyous sea of talent competitors enthusiastically gushing to those who’d come to watch them. A bittersweet feeling emerged. Tonight had definitely gone right, by all means… but it would all be over in a few hours. If there was only a way to bottle up the night’s momentum, to periodically savor it over and over again… 

Eventually Alan and Neil took off to bring Neil’s car around, so Wayne and Garth could accompany them on a post-show trip to Stan Mikita’s Donuts. While Garth went to collect the props and outfits that he and Wayne had used during the show, the cluster of milling students thinned out, leaving Wayne alone in the hall. He put his hands in his pockets and hummed the last few notes of “We Are the Champions” that were still reverberating through his head. Strange how he hadn’t realized it until now, but out of all the people he’d been delighted to see tonight, there had been one glaring omission.

As if on cue, a familiar and highly welcome voice spoke up from behind him. “Hey, Wayne.”

Wayne turned, his throat drying as he took in the heavenly sight of Jan. Though she’d remained at the judge’s table for the duration of the show, she was in costume, decked out in a pink poodle skirt and a black top. Her eyes glowed as she stared at Wayne for so long that Wayne felt it must be a fluke. Surely something else was holding her attention? But no… he was the only person around.

“Hi, Jan,” Wayne said, self-consciousness emerging. He cleared his throat. “Great job judging tonight, you really made the right call.”

“And you and Garth did a great job hosting,” Jan said sincerely. “You know… Mrs. Harrison wasn’t too thrilled about letting you guys take over, but I knew deep down that it would pay off.” She shrugged haplessly. “Guess I was right, huh?”

Even the slightest word of praise made Wayne feel like his body had been inflated with helium. “Bonus…”

As he and Jan stood staring at one another, it dawned on Wayne that _this_ was his chance to end an entire year of agonizing. No one was around to barge in, and even if he got rejected, who cared? He’d been worthy of Jan’s attention all along, and all he’d had to do to garner it was be himself. Whether as a rock star, a talent show host, or just a regular guy, Jan clearly still appreciated Wayne.

“Jan?” God, she looked so pretty, her ponytail pulled over one shoulder and a sweetness in her brown eyes. When Wayne moved forward, she didn’t step away. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

The beginnings of a smile bloomed on Jan’s face. “Yes?”

“D’you think maybe we could… well… could I give you a call sometime?”

The smile on Jan’s face grew bigger. She reached out to pat Wayne’s shoulder, before pulling out a folded talent show playbill from her purse. Holding it up, she flashed seven digits in front of Wayne’s startled eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lest you think that the dance party ending seems way too cliche- this actually happened to me at a talent show I was involved in. Our hosts were nowhere near as fun as Wayne and Garth, though...


	14. Chapter 14

Hyped up from everything that had happened on Friday night, Garth couldn’t sleep a wink when he got back home. As he lay in bed, the sound of thunderous applause replayed in his head over and over. The audience had applauded for the talent, sure, but they’d been just as noisy in between acts. _They’d applauded like that for him and Wayne!_ It was nearly impossible to believe they’d gotten such a reaction just from sharing the kind of stuff that they talked about on an everyday basis. Garth found himself _glad_ that he couldn’t sleep, because it meant he hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. This was _real._ The school loved him, and it was all thanks to Wayne.

Eventually Garth must have crashed, because the next thing he knew, his mother was calling his name at his door. He rolled over and stretched, noting how bright the room had gotten. _Must be around noon_. “What is it?”

“Wayne’s asking for you on the phone.” Garth’s mom held up the cordless.

_Wayne!_ Grabbing his glasses, Garth bounded up from his bed. He mouthed _thank you_ to his mother as she handed him the phone and closed the door behind her, before putting the phone to his ear. “Hi, Wayne!”

“Hi, Garth!” Wayne sounded as chipper as ever. “Man, your mom sounds just as hot over the phone. She’s such a fox!” He growled playfully.

“Shut up!” Garth said. “That’s my mom you’re talking about!”

“Okay, relax,” Wayne said. “Don’t have a stroke, all right? I just called to thank you for being my co-host last night. You were excellent!”

“Aw.” Garth flushed. “You were _mega-_ excellent!”

“We both were,” Wayne countered. “So anyway, I was thinking a lot when I got home, right? And I was wondering, how’d you like to do it all over again?”

_I sure would!_ Garth nearly exclaimed, before remembering how Wayne had tricked him in the past with similar statements. Did this mean… had an opportunity come up?

“Is there another talent show?” he asked quickly.

“Better than a talent show.” Garth could hear the smile in Wayne’s voice. “How about our own TV show?”

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all potential readers! I have a couple other Wayne's World fics on this profile and a few in my head if you're interested.


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